


we are ghosts amongst these hills

by louisgaynkles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Artist Harry Styles, Blink and you'll miss it, Farmer Louis Tomlinson, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Niall Horan/Gemma Styles, Minor Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, a dash of angst, but both of these are very minor, poor Liam is very underappreciated in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 84,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27764773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisgaynkles/pseuds/louisgaynkles
Summary: Harry spontaneously buys a house in Yorkshire because the universe, or fate, keeps leading him to it. What he didn’t know, is that his new house comes with a past that seems to be mysteriously tied to his own life. Before he knows it he finds himself travelling back in time, stuck in the middle of a century old love story.Featuring Louis as a farmer with a passion for gardening, Zayn as the heir to the local manor, Niall as a pub owner with a secret, and a truly underappreciated Liam.Based on Mariana by Susanna Kearsley
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 42
Kudos: 153





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, here we go. I've never published anything, so I'm basically a nervous mess.
> 
> This story was originally meant as a little writing exercise for when I needed a break from the fic that I was actually writing, but it slowly took over my life and here we are now. This is by no means perfect, but it's finished, so I figured I might as well publish it! 
> 
> The story is based on the novel Mariana by Susanna Kearsley.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it ♥ 
> 
> P.S. The title is from Ghosts by James Vincent McMorrow
> 
> P.P.S.: I don't have a beta, so all mistakes are my own :)

“ _You don’t meet the people you love; you recognize them._ “

Anna Gavalda

Harry first saw the house when he was five years old.

His parents had taken him and his sister Gemma to visit their mother’s aunt Mildred in York and upon noting that it was a very pleasant day for a drive, their stepdad had decided to discard the road maps and “take the scenic route” on their way home. After about an hour of getting lost in what seemed like a labyrinth of one small village after the next, their mother finally let out an exasperated sigh.

“Honey, I think it’s time I look at a map, don’t you think?” She’d barely finished talking, when the motor of the car suddenly began to stutter and with a choking sound the car came to an abrupt halt.

“Why did we stop?”, Gemma’s high voice piped up innocently and their mother gave another sigh.

“Yes, Robin darling”, she asked sweetly, “why _did_ we stop?”

“There must be something wrong with the car”, Robin replied, looking puzzled.

Harry stopped listening to the commotion that followed, because he noticed a big black cat that had been sitting right in front of their car in the middle of the street. The cat got up now and strolled idly to the other side of the street, disappearing in some high bushes and Harry pressed his face to the car window trying to see where it went.

That’s when he saw the house. It was nothing special really and he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was that caught his fancy. It was an old house, the rough, grey stone looking a little worse for wear and the steep roof seemingly missing a couple of tiles. But Harry stared at it for a long moment, forgetting everything around him, until he turned to Gemma and simply said: “That’s my house!” Before Gemma, who leaned over him clumsily to see out of his window, could get a good look though, the car started back up and they were on their way again, both of their parents happy to find the Motorway just on the other side of the small village of B ilbury they’d found themselves in.

The incident was soon forgotten and Harry didn’t think about the little house in Yorkshire again until many years later.

***

It was during the summer when he was 19 years old and Gemma had just finished her University degree. Harry, who’d taken a gap year after finishing his A-levels, which was quickly coming to a close, decided he was going to treat his sister and himself to a nice summer holiday. They’d taken a road trip to Edinburgh in Harry’s old beaten up Ford Fiesta, spending a glorious week exploring the city and its surroundings by day and the lively pub scene by night.  
On their way home they’d opted for the longer but much prettier route right by the sea, stopping here and there whenever it stroke their fancy to take a stroll by the sea in Northumberland and going for a quaint lunch break and stroll around the beautifully historic streets of York.

It was after lunch, that the idle day turned troubled. They’d just made it through the thicker traffic of Leeds when the GPS on Gemma’s phone announced a complete road closure due to a broken down vehicle ahead of their route. Which left them with no other choice than taking the next exit and following the road through various little villages of East Yorkshire.

As they passed through one unassuming town after the other, a curious feeling settled in Harry’s stomach, a feeling akin to recognition mixed with some sort of anxious anticipation that he couldn’t place. He wrote it off to the greasy pub lunch that was still settling in his stomach.

They were just turning into the next one, Gemma and her phone desperately trying to navigate them back to the motorway, when Harry had to suddenly slam on the breaks.

A black cat had jumped out into the street right in front of his car. Thankfully there was no traffic behind them and when both of their first shocks subsided, Harry felt an eerie feeling of deja-vu crash over him with more power as he watched the cat stalk away toward a strangely familiar hedge.

“Oh my god”, he breathed out. “It’s my house.”

Gemma gave him a curious look. “What are you on about?”

“My house…”, Harry whispered again, unable to shake himself out of the feeling of utter shock.

“Did you hit your head or something?”, Gemma asked, still looking at him with concern in her eyes. Harry steered the car to the side of the road with shaking hands, into a small lane that seemed to be winding its way in the direction of an old church, its bell tower just visible in the distance between the trees.

“Harry, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve been here before”, he looked at Gemma. “ _We’ve_ been here before. Don’t you remember?” He could tell she didn’t remember, still looking at him utterly confused. “We were driving home from a visit with mum’s aunt, like fifteen years ago or something. Mum had just started dating Robin and he wanted to take the scenic route and got terribly lost and we had some car troubles or something… and we stopped _right here_ !”

Gemma furrowed . “Okay…? I don’t remember that. But I mean, aunt Mildred lived in York so we _could_ have taken a similar route...”

“No, you don’t understand, not just similar. It was in this _exact_ spot!”

“Okay”, Gemma said, in the sort of calming, cautious tone of voice you’d use to calm down a hysteric child. “Listen, that was quite the shock right there with the cat and everything...”

“You don’t believe me.” Harry couldn’t help the accusing tone, although he immediately regretted it. “You know what, you’re right, that was a big shock. Would you mind going for a breath of fresh air for a second?”, he asked in a softer tone, relieved to see Gemma’s smile at the proposition.

They left the car parked by the side of the narrow lane and strolled into the direction of the church.  
It was a hot summer’s day in the middle of July and the town seemed to be asleep in the unforgiving sun. Not a soul was out except to Harry and Gemma, walking silently side by side.

“Wow”, Gemma said when they finally stood in front of the church. The sun illuminated the beautiful stained glass windows, painting a picture of small town serenity that seemed to recall back a time long lost.

“It’s beautiful”, Harry admitted. He’d never been traditionally religious, but he’d always loved churches. There’s nothing more calming and serene than the cool inside of an old church on a hot summer’s day.

“Want to go in?”, he asked, giving Gemma a gentle push to the shoulder. “One last small sightseeing adventure before we go back home?”  
The inside was exactly as Harry had hoped, embracing them with a quiet, chilly stillness that seemed to be almost frozen in time. There was little evidence of modern life in most churches like this, which always made Harry feel like he was stepping into a different century.  
The big stained glass windows were as beautiful from the inside as they are from outside, the bright sunlight drawing beautiful colourful mosaics on the old stone walls.

They were on their way back to the car when Gemma gave him a side glance and said: “So, we’ve really been here before, huh?”

Harry nodded. “I’m completely sure of it”, he said, voice firm and certain .

“Funny, isn’t it? How that works, I mean. The world is small, I guess”, Gemma mused as they reached the car. “Do you want me to drive the rest?”, she offered, clearly still a little worried.

Harry was happy to take her up on the offer and as she pulled out of the Church lane and back into the road, he gave the curious house another glance. Funny, how that works, he thought to himself.

“Goodbye, house”, he whispered, his voice drowned by Gemma’s music.

***

The third time he sees the house, he’s 25 years old.

He finished his postgrad studies in Fine Art at the Manchester School of Art two years prior, specialising in Illustrations, and after miraculously landing a big job illustrating an entire series of young adult fiction for a well-known bestselling author, he was lucky enough to make a name for himself very early into his career. He’s just finished with the last book now and having made enough money to live comfortably so far, with another two big pay checks impending in the next couple of months, he decided to take a few weeks off to recharge and to get the creative juices flowing again. A reset of some sorts.

During this period of free time, he offered to help an old university friend who doesn’t own a car with his move to Leeds. Today marks the last of the moving days, finishing on a somewhat stressful note with a visit to IKEA that ended with Harry’s old Ford Fiesta being stuffed to the brim with new furniture and his nerves laying blank.  
When he finally makes his way back to Manchester in the early evening, he really doesn’t feel like taking the motorway in the middle of rush hour traffic.

This time, he recognises the peculiar feeling of deja-vu immediately, and he knows where he is before he even spots the black cat sitting on the side of the road. He slows his car down to a stop, parking it in the small lane that opens up into the driveway of the old house. The overwhelming feeling of recognition washes over him again and for some reason his heartbeat picks up in a sudden rush of excitement.

He’s always been just a tiny little bit superstitious.

Not the kind where he sees bad omens everywhere and refuses to walk underneath ladders or fears black cats crossing the road the wrong way. But there’s been moments in his life where he got the all-consuming feeling that his life is _leading_ him in a certain direction. He strongly believes that some things are simply meant to be.

This is the third time fate has brought Harry to the exact same spot. Three times he’s come to the unassuming town of Bilbury by accident, and every time his path leads him to the same old house. Three times is definitely too many to be a coincidence.  
He gets out of the car and walks up the driveway, unsure what exactly he is planning to do. After all, he can’t just knock on the door and tell whoever lives here that he’d like to visit this house because some force of the universe obviously wants him to be here.

That’s when he sees the sign.  
It’s almost entirely hidden from view, overgrown by some wild weed, but the barely visible writing unmistakably reads: FOR SALE.

His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. This is completely unbelievable. He feels suspicious all of the sudden, like he stepped into some sort of movie or one of those TV shows, where a hyped up TV presenter is going to jump out from around the corner any moment, telling him that “he’s been punked!”.  
Slowly, almost carefully, he walks up to the house and peers into one of the old front windows to find what looked like a completely empty room. Seems like it might really be for sale then.

Having made sure that he wouldn’t be disturbing anyone, he slowly makes his way around the house into the back garden.  
It looks a little worse for wear but still beautiful, spring flowers in full bloom. There were the remnants of what looked to have been a generously sized vegetable patch at some point and a small pathway next to it that leads him to a backdoor. There’s a circle of stones on the far side of the garden, possibly the ruins of some sort of building but he can’t quite make it out in the dim light.

He walks up to the back door and risks another look inside through one of the much bigger windows on this side of the house. He can just about make out the old tile floor and a big fireplace on one side of the room that’s obviously been turned into a modern kitchen.

“He’s not here.” Harry jumps at the voice and turns around guiltily, feeling his cheeks go red from the embarrassment of being caught peering into stranger’s windows.  
He finds himself face to face with a handsome young man wearing mud-stained clothes and big gardening gloves, studying him with piercing blue eyes.

“Who?”, he asks lamely once he’s found his voice again.

“Mr. Webb. He’s not here”, the man repeats in a thick Yorkshire accent.

“Oh, I wasn’t -”, Harry doesn’t really know what to say for himself or how exactly he’s going to explain that he has absolutely no idea who this Mr. Webb is.

“He died”, the man adds dryly.

“Oh.”

“You’re not a relative or friend, then?”, a curious look appears on the man’s face.

“Eh, no”, Harry says and scratches his neck awkwardly. “I am sorry, though. For the loss.”

“Oh, he was sort of an asshole anyway, the old bugger”, the man waves him off with a smile and then takes off one of his gloves, extending his hand for Harry to shake.

“Louis Tomlinson, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you”, Harry replies. “I’m Harry. Harry Styles.”

“So, Harry Styles. Do you usually go around other people’s gardens to look into their windows, or is that just today?”, Louis asks in a teasing tone, a smirk appearing on his face.  
Harry can feel the blush creeping back into his cheeks.

“Just today”, he smiles sheepishly. “I saw the for sale sign out front.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “You looking to buy?”

“Wait, do you live here?”, Harry asks, still a little confused and trying to avoid any more embarrassment.

“No, no”, Louis assures him with a chuckle and points in the direction of the round ruins on the other side of the garden. “I take care of garden over there. It belongs to the manor house.”

He points to the wall behind the ruins that separates what looks like a fruit orchard from the rest of the garden. “And those are my trees right there, so I come here a lot”, Louis shrugs.

“You’re a gardener then?”

“Something like that, yes.” The smirk is back and Louis’ incredibly blue eyes seem to sparkle. “So. Are you looking to buy the house?”

Harry’s answer seems to surprise both of them. “Yes.” He pauses, thinking it over for a moment. “This is my house”, he adds with a smile, suddenly feeling more certain than he’s ever felt about anything in his entire life. Realising what he just said and how weird that must sound to a stranger, he’s just about to smooth it over, when Louis nods in understanding.

“I see”, he simply says, as if there’s nothing weird about it. “Well, then you better buy it.” Harry shares a smile with Louis, who adds: “I’d give you a tour, but I don’t have my key with me right now. You should call Mr. Ellis, he manages the sale. Or you could just go to his office, he should still be there”, he shrugs, looking towards the sun that’s just begun setting. “It’s right next to the post office in town, just a five minute walk.”

“Thank you”, Harry’s heart is beating in excited anticipation again.

“No problem. I better get back to work now, it’s getting dark”, Louis says and waves goodbye before wandering back towards his garden.

***

The next hour goes by in a haze and Harry can barely recall it exactly. All he knows is that he steps out of Mr. Ellis’ office about an hour later with all the necessary paperwork, well on the way of becoming a proud home owner. Mr. Ellis was a little confused by the certainty of his request, wanting to finalise the purchase immediately without even taking a look at the inside, ensuring him that there is no other offer and that he has all the time in the world.

Harry is sure, though. It’s _his_ house, after all. Having to tour it seems silly to him.

A few hours later, he’s sitting in his sister’s beautiful kitchen in her flat in Sheffield, showing her the documents. “You did _what_ ?”, Gemma looks absolutely scandalized.

“I bought a house”, he repeats himself, taking another sip of his wine. “There’s a few formalities that need to be taken care of, but for all intents and purposes, it’s basically mine already.”

“But -”, his sister’s mouth hangs open, her own wine forgotten. “You can’t just buy a house!” Her consternation makes him laugh.

“Why not?”, he shrugs. “It wasn’t very expensive. Apparently it’s a bit run down, but I’m sure it’s not too bad.”

“What do you mean, ‘you’re sure’?”, she groans. “Harry, please tell me you at least _looked at it_!”

He smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t need to, I knew I wanted it.”

“Because of the cat”, Gemma repeats what he explained to her earlier, sounding defeated. “The cat you almost ran over six years ago.”

“Well, sort of. Look, I know it sounds crazy -”

“It _is_ crazy”, she interrupts him.

"Okay, it’s a little crazy. But I’ve got the money for it and I know I want it, so…”, he shrugs again.

Gemma takes a long gulp of wine. “I can’t believe my little brother is rich enough to buy a house.”

He laughs again. “I wouldn’t exactly call it _rich_ -”

“If you can just buy a house on a whim _because it felt right_ , then you’re rich”, she deadpans. “Who knew there was so much money in illustrating books. And I always thought I was the successful child.”

“Hey, don’t put yourself down. You _are_ successful! Just ask all your lucky uni students who are only a few years younger than you, how they feel about that.” That makes her laugh.

“Also, part of it was the money I got from aunt Mildred when she died”, he admits.

Their somewhat eccentric and childless great-aunt had given all of her money to various charities after her death, singling out Harry as the only family member that got a sizeable amount of money. “Oh yeah, your gay funds”, Gemma jokes. She’s jokingly dubbed it so because of her theory that the reason it was Harry who got the money was because aunt Mildred, a proud lesbian in her time, had somehow known Harry is gay and given him the money as some form of solidarity. “Honestly, I feel like aunt Mildred would have condoned this spontaneous spending of her money”, she admits.

“Oh totally , she would have loved it!”, Harry agrees and they both take a sip of wine.

“Have fun explaining this to mum, though”, Gemma warns and Harry groans.

His mother takes the news surprisingly well when he tells her over facetime a couple of days later. She’s currently in America, visiting some friends and family, travelling along the west coast. “Well, I guess it might be nice to get out of the city, you know, somewhere a little quieter so you could work on your book”, she smiles after he’s explained it all to her, always the supporting mother.

She’s right, of course.

Harry has toyed with the idea of writing and illustrating a graphic-novel style book about LGBT-Art History ever since his Uni days and now, with a comfortable financial cushion and a house in a quiet village, it might be the perfect time to get started. He doesn’t need to tell his mother that the thought didn’t even cross his mind when he made the decision. He’s not sure she’d understand that he bought the house only because he somehow _knows_ that it belongs to him.

***

And then everything suddenly goes very fast.

He tells his flatmates that they can start looking for a replacement for him and organises some helping hands for his move and before he knows it, moving day has come and gone and he’s sitting in his new kitchen with a cup of tea and a mountain of empty pizza cartons strewn across the boxes around him.  
Although most of them were surprised at his rash decision to move to a village in the middle of nowhere, his friends have been a great help with the move and everything went surprisingly well.

The first time Harry stepped into the house, he felt the same overwhelming sense of belonging that made him buy it in the first place. He figures that’s a good sign.

The only tiny hiccup during the day was when Josh, one of his burly uni friends came into the house carrying his bed frame, asking him which room wants it in upstairs. Upon earlier inspection, Harry had found out that there were three rooms upstairs. A big bedroom with a modern en-suite in the back of the house and two smaller rooms as well as a second, smaller bathroom towards the front. He was in the middle of carrying in his sofa with another friend, so he’d absent-mindedly looked at Josh blankly for a moment before replying.“First room on the right, thank you”, he finally said and proceeded to carry the heavy couch into the living room.

He’d been in the process of pushing it around so it faced the fireplace perfectly, when Josh came back, giving him a weird look. “You sure you want your bed in the first room on the right?”, he asked. “Not the master bedroom?”

It had taken Harry another moment to realise the mistake and, clapping his hand to his forehead, he’d said: “God, I must have had a brain fart or something. Of course, you can put it in the master bedroom, please. Thanks, Josh!”

“No problem, H”, Josh had smiled and shuffled out of the room again.

Harry wrote it off to moving brain and forgot about it.

After getting everything out of the moving van and putting all his furniture in roughly the right places, Harry had ordered enough pizza to feed an army and the five of them had devoured it all before he said goodbye to his friends, thanking them about a million times.

It’s a weird feeling, being alone in his new house for the first time. The silence seems exaggerated by the starc contrast to the hustle and bustle of the day. He slowly strolls through all of the rooms, the cup of tea he made himself forgotten in the kitchen.

There’s four rooms downstairs. He starts in the big living room on the right side of the house, stretching all the way from the front to the back of the house. It features a big, beautiful window front looking out over the garden.  
In the back of the house is the kitchen that he saw through the window that day a couple of weeks ago. It’s probably his favourite room in the house, he thinks, with the beautiful old stone tiles on the floor and the big fireplace to one side contrasting the state of the art modern kitchen on the other side of the room.  
It’s the kitchen of his dreams, beautiful, timeless, spacious and fitted with all the modern equipment anyone could ask for.

Adjacent to the kitchen is the dining room and on the front side of the house is a study with huge, old built-in bookcases in a terribly dark wood. The dining room and the study, in contrast to the kitchen and living room, show why the house was comparatively cheap. They are very obviously run down, the wallpaper in the dining room is peeling off all over and the old wooden floorboards in the study are obviously damaged where there used to be what Harry assumes was a heavy writing desk. But it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, just as the small bathroom upstairs with the leaking siphon and the old bathtub that has definitely seen better days.  
The old man who’d lived here last had clearly only taken care of and invested in the rooms he used, Harry thinks, because the bedroom as well as the en-suite seem to have been redone around the same time as the kitchen.

All in all, he’s very happy. The house is beautiful, a tasteful mix of the old and the new. Just like he’d always dreamed his house to be. It seems almost to good to be true, but somehow there’s still this settled feeling in his stomach that’s telling him that this is just _right_.

He spends the rest of the afternoon unpacking some of the more pressing boxes in the kitchen, putting away all of his silverware, his dishes and various other kitchen supplies that seem to have accumulated over the years.

When he finally puts his favourite teapot in the cupboard and finds all of the boxes surrounding him pleasantly empty, he realises the sun is shining outside on what seems to be a beautiful spring day and suddenly the overwhelming urge to get some fresh air overcomes him.

On the spur of the moment, he opens the back door leading into the garden and takes a step outside.

***

He was right, it really is a beautiful day, warm enough so he doesn’t feel cold in only his tshirt. He takes a deep breath and enjoys the feeling of clear air and freedom in his lungs. And then his eyes fall on the round heap of stones where Louis Tomlinson came from the day he bought the house.

Curious, he walks over there to take a closer look, wondering what the ruins used to be once. From what he remembers of studying the plans of his property, the stones lay just outside of his property line. On closer inspection, the stones are obviously remnants of a circular building, some parts reaching up to his hip or even his chest at the highest point. The space in the middle has been turned into a flower garden, he realises with a smile.

“So, you bought it after all.”

For the second time, Louis Tomlinson’s voice makes Harry jump. It’s borders on a miracle how a fully grown man, wearing heavy working boots, can apparently move so quietly that Harry didn’t hear him coming at all. Harry recovers quicker this time and flashes his most dazzling smile to greet the man. He’s wearing a heavy wool jumper over work trousers but no gardening gloves today. His blue eyes are sparkling in the bright sunlight.

“You bought the house”, he repeats. It’s not a question. “You were all the talk in the village during the last few weeks, I’ll warn you. Mr. Ellis told everybody who would listen about the young artist moving here from Manchester. Everyone’s curious.” He’s grinning now. “If you don’t already have a few eccentric artist type friends to come visit you here, you should probably think about getting some now, or else the whole village will be disappointed.”

“I’m afraid I’m actually quite boring”, Harry laughs. “And I don’t really have any eccentric artist friends. I’m an illustrator.”

“An exciting romance maybe? A partner in the big city that waltzes into our little corner of the world on weekends to visit?”

Harry laughs but shakes his head. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“Well”, Louis looks at him gravely. “Not even a scandalous relative of some sort?”

“All my extended family lives in America”, Harry explains. “Even my mum and stepdad are over there at the moment. So the only one who’s likely to visit any time soon is my sister. And she’s not exactly the eccentric artist type. She’s a historian.”

“Ah. Well, too bad. The gossip mill with have to find something else to tread up then.” He leans his head to the side, smiling at Harry. “What do you think about my little project here?”

“I love it”, Harry replies with honest enthusiasm. “It’s beautiful. Is this your land?”

“No”, Louis shakes his head. “I’m just taking care of it as a favour for a friend.”

Harry leans on the stone wall, feeling the warm stone with his hand. “Do you know what this used to be?”

“A dovecote, is what I’ve been told. Apparently doves used to be quite popular a few centuries ago. Not a lot left of it now, though.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty old, isn’t it?”, Harry muses.

“About as hold as your house, I’d say. 16Th, 17th century, something like that.”

“Sorry”, Harry grins sheepishly. “I’m really interested in old houses. Especially this one. I’ve waited twenty years for this house.” Harry thinks he sees Louis giving him a long look, but he doesn’t ask and Harry’s not sure if he heard him. He doesn’t mind, not really sure how to explain his connection to the house to a stranger.

“I’d love to know more about its history”, Harry goes on after a moment.

“Well, you’re speaking to the wrong guy then”, Louis laughs. “I’ve only moved here two years ago myself. But if you’re interested in history, you should speak to Niall.”

“Niall?”

“Niall Horan, down at the pub. The Black Bull Inn, it’s just down that lane in the direction of Saint Peter’s over there.” He’s pointing in the direction of the church Harry and Gemma visited the last time they were here. “Niall grew up here. He knows a lot more about the place than I do. He’s basically an encyclopedia at this point.”  
Harry wants to reply, but a sudden movement in the distance over Louis’ shoulder catches his eye and the words never make it out of his mouth.

A lone horse and rider appeared in the shadow of a big oak tree in the distance. Squinting in the afternoon sun, Harry can just about make out a large grey horse and its rider, a tall, dark haired man in dark clothing, that seems to be looking directly at them.

Louis is staring at him intently now. “Something wrong?”

“What?” Harry returns his attention the man in front of him. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I was just looking at that man over there.”

“What man?”

“That man on the horse over there”, Harry points in the direction, but just as Louis turns around, he realises the man and his horse have already vanished. “Huh”, he shakes his head. “That’s strange. They’re gone. It was a tall man with dark hair on a grey horse.”

“Could have been Zayn”, Louis muses. “He owns the manor. That’s his land over there. But I don’t think he’s got any grey horses.”

“I’m sure it’s not important”, Harry says. “Maybe I’m just tired from moving. I might be seeing things.”

“Maybe.” Louis gives him a funny look. “Either way, I’ll better leave you to it now. I just came to get my spade.” He grabs the tool in question and wishes Harry a good evening before he wanders off, whistling a happy tune as he goes.

Harry watches his figure slowly get smaller and the whistling grow fainter as he walks away over the fields, swinging the spade like a walking cane. His eyes fall on the oak tree again, no horse in sight. He shakes his head and turns around, smiling to himself. He can’t help but feel like he’s already made his first friend here in Bilbury.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not hard to find Niall Horan and his pub the next day. The Black Bull Inn is located directly across the street from St Peter’s Church, just like Louis said. It’s a pretty two story building made from the rough, grey stones commonly used on old buildings in this area, the same type of stone Harry’s house was built with.

The front door is open and leads Harry into a narrow hallway, dominated by an old staircase and another door opposite the one he just walked through, that opens up to a spacious cobbled courtyard with rustic looking tables and chairs. There seem to be two rooms. On his left there’s a small sitting room filled with an array of mismatched but comfortable looking chairs and couches with small coffee tables strewn around the room and a huge fireplace right in the centre of the opposing wall.  
To his right he finds the more spacious taproom.

It’s got a beautiful, vintage charm with the big bar made from dark wood taking up most of the wall opposite the front windows. There’s tables and chairs more suitable for eating and drinking than the cosy looking furniture of the other room. A big chalkboard behind the bar tells him there was an Easter special last week.  
Apart from a group of old men crowded around a corner table and a brunette guy behind the bar that looks to be around Harry’s age, the pub is empty this early in the afternoon.

“Hello there, what can I do you for?”, the cheery looking guy behind the bar greets him with a thick Irish accent. His blue eyes seem to sparkle with friendliness and his genuine looking smile makes Harry decide he likes this man immediately.

“I’ll take a Gin and Tonic, thank you.”

“So, you must be Harry the, right?”, the man smiles at him. “I’m Niall. Welcome to Bilbury!”

“Thank you”, Harry smiles back. “And nice to meet you.”

Niall examines him as he prepares his drink. “Louis said you’re good looking”, he finally says with a smirk as he slides him the glass.

Harry doesn’t know where to look, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks. “Well he said _you’re_ an encyclopedia.”

Niall laughs. “Always the charmer. So how do you like Greywethers?”

Harry swallows his first sip and raises his eyebrows in question. “How do I like what?”

“Greywethers”, Niall repeats. “Your house.”

“Oh, I thought it was called Braeside. ‘House on the hill’”, that’s what all the documents said at least.”

“Ah, Eddie made that up”, Niall waves him off. “The previous owner, Eddie. Thought it sounded grand or something. He was a bit of a weirdo. Nah, it was called Greywethers all during my childhood and that’s what we still call it.”

“Greywethers”, Harry says slowly, tasting every syllable. “That sounds very romantic.”

“It’s not, really. It’s just the name of the type of stone people used to build houses with around here. This one as well.” He gestures around himself, still smiling. “So, Louis tells me you’re an illustrator?”

“Wow, word travels fast here in the country, huh?”, Harry jokes.

“It’s not Louis’ fault. He hates gossip, but I forced him to tell me everything about you”, Niall smiles looking completely unapologetic. “I was curious. So, what brings you to Bilbury then?”

“Um, it was kind of an accident, really. I’ve been eager to get out of the city for a while, get the creative juices flowing somewhere more quiet, and I just happened to drive past the house one day, saw that it was for sale and… the rest is history”, Harry smiles sheepishly.

“Well, I’m very glad you came here!” Niall smile is genuine. “We don’t get many young people moving here.”

“You’re young”, Harry remarks but Niall makes a deprecating gesture. “And if my ear doesn’t mistake me, you’re not from here.”

“Yeah but I grew up here. Moved in with my aunt when my parents divorced.” He gives Harry another curious look. “So, illustrations, huh? Anything I’d know?”

“Not unless you read Young Adult fiction, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, that’s my _one_ literary blind spot”, Niall chuckles. “I think some of the locals are going to be a little disappointed, though. Everybody was secretly hoping you’d be some sort of crazy, scandalous modern artist. You know, statues made from big clumps of metal in the front garden type guy.”

Harry laughs. “Louis told me already. I’m sorry to be such a disappointment.”

“Eh, we’ll get over it eventually”, Niall grins.

One of the men in the corner calls Niall over which gives Harry a moment to look around the room idly. He notices a second barman that appeared sometime during his talk with Niall, leaning against the bar in the furthest corner, apparently reading the newspaper lazily. Harry turns in his seat and looks out of the window to the church right on the other side of the street, wondering how old it might be. He must have spoken the question aloud, because Niall, who’s back at the bar miraculously, answers him.

“The original is about 900 years old. But it was almost entirely redone in the 18th century.” He looks at Harry’s empty glass. “Another one?”

“Alright, maybe a small one”, Harry grants. “So you really are the local historian here, huh?”

Niall smiles. “I’m just interested in history. And my aunt Freda liked to tell all the stories she got from her grandmother and so on…There’s also a whole bunch of old photos and books over in the other room, if you’re into that type of thing. Louis told me you’re interested in the history of your house?”

“Yeah, I’d love to know more about it”, Harry admits.

Niall seems to think for a moment. “I’m afraid I don’t know too much about it, to be honest. Eddie lived there for as long as I can remember and he wasn’t exactly an exciting fellow. I’m sure my aunt knows more about it…”, he trails off, looking around the room seemingly in deep thought. “Actually…”, turning to his colleague at the end of the bar, “Oi, Liam! Didn’t your father do some work in Greywethers some years back?”

Liam lifts his eyes from the newspaper and looks a little disorientated at first, as if he had forgotten where he was. He gives Harry a quick glance, turning away again. “Hey, Dad!”, he calls. One of the older men in the corner lifts his head.

“What’s up?”

“Niall wants to talk to you.” His father gets up willingly, walking over to the bar and Niall introduces him as Geoff Payne, retired plumber. He agrees to working for the old Randall at Greywethers.

“Did the en-suite upstairs and he wanted a whole new kitchen as well”, he prides himself. “ Quality stuff, m’sure you agree. It took some work, for sure, the old house.”

"Ye don’t happen to remember who the old man bought the house off, do you?”, Niall steers the conversation back on track.

“M’not sure, son”, Geoff scratches his head. “Must have bought it sometime between the Wars, I’d say. Think it belonged to some officer before that. Hold on… Arthur!” He calls another one of his friends over.

Within ten minutes, Harry is surrounded by the whole group of men who are all outdoing each other with their helpful comments. After a lot of chatter, they all agree that Eddie got the house after his father’s death in the early fifties and that said father bought it in 1938 off of some Captain such-and-such, who apparently had two very beautiful daughters. Nobody really remembered anything before that and none of them could think of any exciting occurrences in the history of the house that could be worth knowing.

“Apart from the ghost, of course”, one of them says offhandedly.

“Ghost?”, Harry echoes.

Niall’s smiling again. “Right, I almost forgot about the ghost.”

“He hasn’t been seen in a long time”, Geoff Payne assures Harry.

“Must be over twenty years now, maybe twenty-five”, Arthur adds. “The green gentleman, was it?”

The others nod their heads in agreement and he goes on, “Never seen him meself, but many did back then. Just a young man in a green coat. Appeared in the garden at dawn every once in a while.”

“I saw him once”, the man who spoke first adds. “Almost scared me to death. Just stood there looking through me with those sad eyes…”

“He wasn’t a mean ghost”, Geoff pipes up again. “Never did nobody any bad. Just stood there sometimes.” So even his ghosts seem to be a bit boring, Harry thinks. No rattling chains, no cries and groans at midnight.

“Not like the ghosts up at the manor, eh boys?”, Arthur jokes. “Those are a bit more feisty. Never saw one of them myself, but I’ve heard some things…”

“Alright, that’s enough now”, Niall interrupts him with a good-natured smile. “Don’t want to scare Harry here, or he’ll think we’re all nutters”, he adds under his breath.

“Oh please, I don’t mind”, Harry laughs. He’s really enjoying himself, more than he has in a long time. “I love a good ghost story. Where’s this manor, then?”

Arthur points over his shoulder. “Oakwell Manor”, he says. “On the other side of the church. Haven’t been up there, yet?” Harry admits that he hasn’t gone further than the Inn and the church yet, prompting a choir of incredulous exclamations from the old men.

“But you have to see the manor -”

“- been mentioned in three different travel guides!”

“- young Mister Morland will surely give you the grand tour. Most of it is open to the public anyway, only uses the North Wing for himself.”

“Alright, alright. I promise I will go take a look”, Harry lifts his hands in a reassuring gesture.  
Placated, the men start up a highly amusing conversation about moving that keeps Harry entertained however little he’s allowed to contribute to it, barely getting a word in for twenty minutes. But at exactly ten minutes to four, all seven of them get up in unison and leave the pub in one long procession of well wishes and goodbyes to Harry. Niall catches his dumbfounded expression and cackles.

“What happened there?”, Harry asks, looking stunned.

“It’s tea time. Time to get home to their wives to get their daily share of village gossip. Although, I reckon today it’s the husbands that’ll have more to tell.”He gives Harry a look.

“About me?”, he asks.

“Of course about you! You’re the hot topic in the entire village, man! You just wait, tomorrow you’ll be overrun with the whole flood of welcome visits.”

“Better get out my good tea set, then”, Harry jokes. “Some company might be good. I could use some help for the bigger renovations.” Niall cackles again.

“Do you really need help, though?”, he asks, sobering up. “I’m sure Louis would love to help, if needed. I’d offer my own help, but I’m useless when it comes to that stuff. Louis is absolutely brilliant though.”

“God, no. I’ll be fine, I was just joking! I’ll probably wait a couple of weeks until I’m settled in anyway.” Harry makes an offhand gesture. “Speaking of Louis, though. What does he do? Is he a gardener or something?”

“He’s a farmer, actually”, Niall informs him. “Got a small farm just outside of town and whole herd of sheep. The gardening is mostly just a hobby and a favour for Zayn. Helped him a bunch with maintaining all the gardens up at the manor before they were opened to the public. The manor was a little run down a couple of years back, the gardens looked terrible before Louis laid his hands on them. He’s got a real green thumb. There’s a full time gardener up at the manor now, of course. You should see the rose gardens in the summertime, they’re beautiful.”

“I’ll make sure of it”, Harry replies. “We’re neighbours after all, right? I heard my property borders the Mr. Morland’s estate.”

“Exactly. Ah, you’ll like Zayn. He’s a real aristocrat and all that, but at his core he’s a real down-to-earth guy. He might be able to tell you more about Greywethers by the way. He really got into the local history books when he wrote the guides for Oakwell Manor.”

He turns around and pours himself some coffee, taking a long sip before he continues. “He’s in France right now, though, on holiday. He’s got a yacht there. But you’ll meet him once he’s back, I’m sure. Until then, I’ll try to get some info from my aunt, if you want.”

“Thank you, that would be amazing. What do I owe you?”, Harry points at his empty glass.

“Nothing. It’s on the house today. My way of welcoming you to the village”, he smiles.

“Thank you! That’s very kind of you.”

“Now, gimme your number and I’ll text you if I find anything interesting.”

***

Harry breathes in the fresh early evening air on his way back, feeling invigorated somehow, despite his lack of sleep. It’s only April, but it’s a mild day, the first one this year that felt like the sun is gaining some strength.

Although he was absolutely exhausted last night, he didn’t sleep well, waking up several times during the night, laying awake for a few minutes, listening to the creaking of the old wood. He powered through an entire morning of unpacking boxes nevertheless, eager to get at least the essential rooms done as quickly as possible.

“Hello Greywethers”, he whispers as he reaches the end of his driveway. At least he learned its real name now. And the fact that he apparently has a ghost. The green gentleman, the guys called him, appearing somewhere in the garden.

Curious, Harry walks around the house instead of entering his front door. The question is, where exactly did the ghost appear? The kitchen garden looks way too new, he decides on closer inspection, just like the flower garden in the old dovecot. He lets his eyes travel the whole expanse of his property.

There, he thinks with sudden clarity. Right by that tree. He walks over to the spot and sees what he assumes are the remnants of quite the sizeable vegetable garden, where the grass is still sparse. Yes, right here, he thinks triumphantly, straightening his back.

The sun is sinking rapidly now and a cold breeze rustles Harry’s brown curls. His hair is getting longer again. He used to wear it long a couple of years back but cut it off when he finished his final uni exam. He’s unsure, if he wants to cut it again, it’s already tickling the skin below his ears. He turns to look at the trees in the distance, in the direction of the manor.

The man on the horse is back again, watching him from his place underneath the old oak tree. Harry lifts his chin in a sort of defiant gesture and he could have sworn he sees the man smile for a second, although he knows he’s too far away to detect such a small movement.  
After a long moment, the stranger turns his horse around and rides back into the direction of the manor, the shadows of the trees swallowing his silhouette in the dim light of dusk.

Harry stands there for a moment, wondering who his mysterious equestrian might be. He remembers that Louis said it might be Zayn but now Niall mentioned that he’s in France, which makes the whole thing even more strange.

After a while he turns around as well, walking back to the house and pushing away all thoughts of ghosts and strangers on horses.

He still makes sure to lock his backdoor, following a funny gut feeling.

***

Word really does travel fast in Bilbury. The next morning, Harry is glad he’s already unpacked most of the downstairs boxes, as he’s faced with welcome visits from what seems like the entire village.

The first ones, Mr. Ellis the real estate agent and his wife Pamela, came at nine in the morning, bringing a full plate of oven-warm scones with them. Not long afterwards, Geoff Payne and his lovely wife Karen brought over two glasses of Karen’s black currant jam and Arthur and Marie Walsh stopped by with a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Many others followed, coming and going all morning, all bearing various baked, cooked or bottled goods and well wishes.

Among his morning visitors is an older lady with gentle brown eyes and a soothing voice introducing herself as Mrs. Hutcherson and bringing with her two dozen of the most heavenly smelling tea cakes Harry has ever seen. “I heard you illustrate books then, my dear?”, she says with a soft smile. “That’s very nice. A good choice.” Her eyes seem strangely familiar, but Harry can’t place who they remind him of.

A few minutes after noon, when the flood of visitors has finally died down, Gemma arrives on his doorstep. Upon taking a look at his table, that looks like it’s about to break under the weight of all the house-warming presents, she gives him a sisterly pat on the back.

“Congrats, brother dear”, she smirks. “The locals have accepted you! You’ll be a real villager in no time.”

“Heeey, don’t make fun”, Harry protests. “They’ve all been nothing but lovely, so far.”

“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by like this”, Gemma says lazily, propping her feet up on the tiny space that’s left on Harry’s table. He swats them off.

“Couldn’t have chosen a better time”, he laughs, gesturing to all the food. “I just hope you’re hungry!”

“Always”, his sister winks. “I’m here on mum’s orders, though. I had to promise her to stop by, check if you’re doing okay. So. Are you doing okay, then?”

“I believe I am”, Harry replies. “It’s going quite well. I’m almost done unpacking and there’s only two rooms that need some work. I’ll show you around if you want the grand tour?”

“I’d love a tour!”, Gemma jumps to her feet immediately.

“Well, alright then”, Harry scratches behind his ear. “This is the living room.”

“It’s very nice”, Gemma comments, walking over to the big windows. “Beautiful view.”

Harry points to big oak tree in the distance, “And I have a very esteemed neighbour, too. This is where the manor estate starts.”

“Well, well. I didn’t know you’d be entering the high society now.”

Harry leads her through the hall into the study. “This is one of the rooms that needs a little work, which is why it looks like… well, this, right now.” Gemma lets her eyes travel over the conglomeration of empty or half empty boxes and other clutter that Harry threw in here. “I figured I might as well use it until I can afford to have the floor and walls redone”, Harry shrugs in his defence, walking through the connecting door into the dining room.

“Nice wallpaper”, his sister comments sarcastically, examining the vintage pattern on the peeling walls. “Where’s this table from?” She’s standing by the old dining room table with its fitting chairs, the only furniture in the room.

“Came with the house.”

“It looks old. Maybe you should spruce it up a little and sell it, could be worth something”, she half-jokes. Harry frowns.

“I can’t sell it! It belongs to the house.” Gemma raises her eyebrows but doesn’t comment. He takes her by the arm, trying to lighten his own mood again.

“Come on, you’ve got to see the kitchen, you’re going to lose your mind!”

He’s right. Gemma stares at the kitchen speechlessly for about a minute before she turns to him. “I’ve never been more jealous of you”, she admits. “It’s so… _new_ !”  
Harry grins. “The guy who lived here before me had it all redone a few years back. Wait until you see the master bedroom.”

“Oh, I see you’re already in the know!”

“Well, I went to the pub yesterday”, Harry smirks.

They make their way upstairs and Harry leads her straight into his bedroom, presenting it with an exaggerated “tadaaa”.

“This is really quite something. Maybe I should consider moving to the country. I’d pay a fortune for something like this in the city”, his sister jokes after inspecting both the bedroom and its bathroom in awe. “Very nice, H!”

“I haven’t really done anything to the other two rooms up here”, Harry explains as he leads the way back to the front of the house. Gemma is peering into the tiny bathroom when he opens the door to the room he plans to make his studio space.

“Huh”, he huffs. “That’s weird.”

He could have sworn he’d already put his easel and at least two boxes of painting supplies up here as well as his drawing desk. But as he steps into the room, there’s nothing in it except for a small single bed in one corner and an old dresser on the wall opposite of the window. “These aren’t mine”, he murmurs out loud. “What the -”

“What’s up?”, Gemma calls from down the hall.

“All my art stuff is gone”, Harry explains as he makes his way to the other spare room, wondering if he opened the wrong door somehow. But the other room looks exactly how he remembers it, empty except for a few boxes filled with books that he hasn’t got a place for yet.

“Uh, Harry”, Gemma calls him. He turns and finds her standing in the door to his studio. “What do you see?”, she asks, giving him a weird look. He walks back into the room.

It’s all there. The drawing desk, his boxes filled with painting supplies, even his easel. No trace of a bed or a dresser. “This _is_ yours, right?”, Gemma asks in a gentle voice.

“Yes, but… what?” Harry shakes his head. “These things weren’t in here just a second ago, Gems, I swear!”

His sisters face morphs into a concerned expression. “Listen”, she slings her arm over his shoulders. “You’ve had a busy day today, right? Maybe it’s been a bit much. You look tired.”

“I’m _not_ going insane!”

“I didn’t say you were. You’re not! Of course, you’re not.” She leads him downstairs and into the kitchen again. “Let me make you a cuppa.”

“They weren’t there”, Harry insists.

“Maybe there’s a logical explanation for this, H.”

“Is there?”

“Well…”, she hesitates for a moment, thinking. “When did you go to bed last night?”

“Late”, Harry admits.

“Aha! And when did you get up today?”

“Just after six. I don’t have blinds or curtains yet.”

“Well, there you have it. You’re exhausted. Your mind was just playing tricks on you!” She puts down a cup of steaming tea in front of him.

“I don’t feel tired, Gemma”, he protests. “I haven’t even done any real work since I got here. And I sleep just fine!”

She examines him with squinted eyes. “You look tired, though.”

“I sleep _fine_ ”, Harry repeats, fully aware he’s beginning to sound like a petulant child. “I’ve been dreaming a lot, actually.”

"Really? That’s unusual for you, right?”

“Well, yeah…”, Harry immediately regrets mentioning it. Apparently his sister his determined to be worried about him.

“What are the dreams about?”

“I don’t remember them”, he says. It’s not even a lie. “Also, what good would it do to tell you. You don’t know anything about dreams”, he sticks out his tongue.

“Oh, that reminds me. You remember my friend Julia, right? Well, she’s having a party in London on Saturday. I thought you could be my plus one.”

“How exactly did my dreams remind you of this?”

Gemma smirks. “Julia studied psychology in Oxford. I'm sure she'd have lots to say about those dreams of yours.” Harry punches her shoulder for that, but only very lightly. “So, will you come? We could drive down to London together…?”, she blinks at him innocently. “Pretty please?”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah, alright. I could use a break from all of these moving boxes.”

“Yay!”

“Alright. But now I need _your_ help”, Harry teases. “In helping me hang up some curtains. _Pretty please?_ ”

***

Later that afternoon, when all the curtains are hung successfully and Gemma’s on her way back to Sheffield again, Harry finds himself strolling down the small lane towards the church once again. He hasn’t been in there since that day he almost ran over the black cat, when he saw Greywethers for the second time. Following some sort of impulse, he passes through the gate that separates the churchyard from the street.

The fresh air helps clear his head, that’s still preoccupied with the weird moment he had in his studio earlier.

It all seems a bit silly now, in the golden light of a slowly setting sun, fresh air in his lungs. Maybe Gemma was right after all. He hasn’t been sleeping as well as he’d tried to convince her. He’s probably just tired, like she said. Older sisters seem to have this annoying quality of always being right.

His original plan was to go visit Niall in the Black Bull for an early dinner, but for some reason the church seems to call his name, and as he’s walking through the neat churchyard, the sun shining on his back, it feels like the right decision.

There’s few places that exude the same aura of calm, peace and quiet as a village churchyard, where the ivy hugs the old, weathered gravestones in a loving embrace. Many of the stones here are tilting dangerously to the side or into the pathways. The church itself isn’t big by any means, but imposing nevertheless.

A sudden gust of air pushes open the old wooden double door. Almost as if inviting him inside, Harry thinks and shakes his head at the thought. He steps inside anyway.  
It’s just as beautiful as he remembers it. Even more so now at sundown, with the stained glass windows reflecting light around the whole room in mosaic shapes like a kaleidoscope. Harry takes it in for a moment, feeling awestruck. He’s always loved the architecture of old churches, no matter his rocky relationship with the institution behind them.

His steps resonate loudly in the quiet room as he slowly strolls to the front, reading the names on the square stones underneath his feet. Staynor, Alleyn, Hatch, Morland…

A loud, explosive sound startles him and he whips around, his heart beating in his chest. It’s just a dove that got stuck in the framework of the choir screen for a moment before making her hasty, panicked escape through the half opened door.

Harry’s heart slows down to its usual rhythm again, but there’s this feeling of unease, almost dizziness that he can’t shake as if he’s going to faint any moment. The sun-filled inside of the church suddenly feels stuffy and claustrophobic like a tomb and he stumbles out into the fresh air again where he leans against the outside of the church for a moment, catching his breath.

He notices a small pathway to the side of the street and opting to stay away from the road in his current state, he starts walking. He’s not exactly sure where it’s taking him, but he doesn’t really care at the moment. There’s a rhythmic stomping sound in his ears and he’s drenched in sweat when he stops for another breath, leaning against the rough bark of a tree.

The stomping sound seems to be getting louder and louder now and Harry shakes his head weakly, trying to get rid of it. It’s not working though, and suddenly a pair of hooves appear in his peripheral vision. He lifts his head and sees a big grey horse – or is it brown? – and a dark, handsome man coming closer and closer.

For some reason, Harry can’t move, still stuck in his leaning position when the stranger steadies his horse right in front of him. He tries to look up, but the sun is blinding him, positioned right behind the rider’s head, shading his features almost entirely.

“You must be my new neighbour”, a surprisingly soft voice says. “Hello, I’m Zayn Malik.”

Harry lifts his hand in greeting and tries for a smile, but removing his steadying arm from the tree behind him proved to be a mistake, because he promptly loses his balance, sinks to the ground and faints.


	3. Chapter 3

“Got you some water.”

Harry lifts his head from where it was resting between his bend legs to look at Zayn’s almost too perfect face. “No, don’t sit up yet. How are you feeling?”  
Harry suppresses a groan. “Fine.” Naturally, his voice sounds a little muffled.

Whatever first impression he’d wanted to make on his illustrious neighbour, this wasn’t it.

He’s sitting on a plush sofa in the manor’s parlour and Zayn pushes a glass of water into his hands.  
Harry lifts his head again to take a sip, stealing another glance at his host. Life can be cruel sometimes. Of course, there’s is worse things, but on a scale of embarrassing moments, fainting in front of a stranger that’s also your neighbour and something of a local celebrity, looking like a Greek god on top of it, must be somewhere up there.

High up there, Harry thinks as he gulps down the water. He can’t even remember the last time he fainted. What’s wrong with him? And why won’t Zayn Malik stop looking at him with those deep, deep brown eyes that can only be described as dreamy.

“Thank you”, Harry huffs out after another long gulp of water, trying for his most winning smile. “And I’m sorry.” He feels himself blushing, to make matters worse.

“You’re welcome”, Zayn sits down in a chair in front of him, giving him a long look. “And no problem.” A small smile seems to play on his mouth, prompting Harry to sit up and gather some of his wits.

“I don’t usually do the whole damsel in distress thing, I promise”, he smirks, trying for humorous, although it comes out sounding a bit too flirty. His neighbour doesn’t seem to mind, though, letting out a quiet laugh before joking back with a smile: “At least I had the whole prince on a horse thing down, although I’m afraid Apollo isn’t a white horse.”

“Shame, really”, Harry replies, happy that Zayn apparently seems to jump at his humour immediately.

His smile turns sincere after just a moment though and he leans forward, giving Harry another watchful look. “I should be apologising, though. I’m sorry, if Apollo and I scared you. He’s a pretty big horse and I sometimes forget –”

Harry cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Please, it’s not your fault. I’ve just been overexerting myself the last couple of days and that seems to have caught up with me now!”

“And you’re sure, you’re okay again?” His host’s sincere worry for his well-being almost makes Harry laugh, seeing the other man’s genuinely worried face reminds him so much of a mother’s expression.

“I’m sure”, he says instead, schooling his features. After looking at him another moment, Zayn finally seems to believe him.

“Well, maybe we could try with another round of introductions, then”, he says, extending his hand to Harry. “Zayn Malik Morland, pleased to meet you.”

Harry takes his warm hand. “Harry Styles.” He sits up straight. “Morland? That means I’ve just seen some of your ancestors names in the church. Your family must be one of the oldest ones here.”

“Well, depends on how you’re looking at it”, Zayn replies, leaning back in his chair comfortably. “There were Morlands in Oakwell Manor as far back as the reign of Elizabeth I, but the estate was sold in the 19  th  century. My grandfather waited many years to purchase it back, until he was finally able to about forty years ago. Having produced no male heirs, it became mine after his death.”

He notices Harry’s raised eyebrows. “Oh, I know, it’s all very misogynist. But my mother never wanted the house anyway, so I’d have been stuck with it either way. I like to flatter myself that my Pakistani heritage on my father’s side makes up for it in diversity. Makes it a little more unconventional than just any old white aristocrat living in some type of mansion”, he adds jokingly, gesturing around himself as if to prove his point.

“It must be wonderful to own such an old estate, though”, Harry can’t help but say.

“Wonderful, yes. And expensive”, Zayn brings him back to earth.

“Is that why you opened the house for the tourists?”, Harry asks and immediately regrets the open question. The other man surprises him again by simply chuckling.

“Yes and no. I applied for state funds some years back and those include opening up the house to the public. English Heritage funds, and all that boring stuff. I’ll gladly give you the grand tour for free, of course, if you’re interested.”

“I’d love to, but maybe another day”, Harry says.

“Of course. We can do it whenever. Maybe over the weekend? I sort of need to make myself at home again as well. I’ve just come home from holiday, actually.”

“I know. France, right?”

Another smile spreads across Zayn’s dark features and he shakes his head which makes his silky black hair move, reflecting the light like some sort of hyper-realistic painting. “You’ve been to the Black Bull, I take it. Yes, I have a boat in Antibes that I like to visit once or twice a year. It’s nice to get out of the rain every once in a while.”

“Oh”, Harry remarks. “And who takes care of the manor while you’re gone?”

“Well, I’ve got a great staff of people who do all the actual work for me. Two tourist guides, an amazing housekeeper and a gardener, among others. We’re basically a small business.”

“Of course you are!”, Harry feels a little dumb suddenly. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”, Zayn looks at him quizzically.

“The last couple of days I’ve seen a man on a grey horse on the path that borders my property. It must have been one of your staff, then!”

“Not if it was a grey horse”, Zayn frowns. “I only have Bays and Chestnuts. Are you sure the horse was grey?”

“I might not be an expert on horses”, Harry replies, “but I know my colours.”

“Right, I forgot. You’re an artist, right? Well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I don’t mind people using that path. Do you want some more water? Or something stronger?”

“Oh no, thank you. I really am fine”, Harry puts down the empty glass and gets up from the sofa, gingerly brushing a hand through his tousled hair. “You’ve been very nice, but I really should go now. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Never”, Zayn replies with a charming smile. “Alright, let me at least show you to the door then.”

***

“ _How_ exactly did you manage to move to the quaintest bloody village in all of England and _still_ find yourself in the middle of a juicy situation with a tall, dark, handsome and, dare I say, _rich_ stranger?”, Gemma asks him the following Saturday after he’s told her everything about his first meeting with his neighbour. They are at her friends’ party in London, sitting on two comfortable chairs in her living room, right next to the bar that she hired specifically – including a very handsome barkeeper that has been making eyes at Gemma for the last half hour.

Harry smirks and shrugs, taking another sip from his fruity drink. Gemma gives him another look. “I can’t believe you, H. You have no shame!”

“Honestly, it wasn’t as juicy as you make it seem”, he admits a little sheepishly. “I mean, I _fainted,_ Gems. That doesn’t exactly scream sex appeal, does it?”

“Maybe he’s into role-playing as Prince Charming”, Gemma wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“I don’t even know if he’s gay”, Harry deadpans. His sister waves him off as if that’s neither here nor there. Whatever she was about to say gets interrupted by Harry yawning heartily.

“Tired?”, Gemma raises her eyebrows knowingly.

“It’s a long drive down here, okay?”

Harry had picked up Gemma in Sheffield at two, after spending all morning finally organising his studio, fully planning on getting started on his book the following Monday.

It’s barely after ten now and the party is in full swing, but Harry feels about ready to drop into his comfortable hotel bed.

“How mad would you be, if I left you alone here for the rest of the night?”, he asks, already looking guilty. Gemma laughs.

“Not mad at all. Who knows, without my little brother tagging along, I might even get a chance to chat someone up”, she jokes.

“Ew, don’t tell me that. I do not need to know that!”, he stuffs his ears with his fingers. “Hold on”, he realises after a moment of shared laughter. “If I’m such a _burden_ to you, then why did you take me with you?”

“I just thought it might be nice for you to get out of the house, is all”, she shrugs.

“You talk like I’ve been stuck there for months. I’ve only moved in a _week_ ago!”

“And I didn’t want to do the drive alone, if I’m being honest”, his sister adds dryly.

“Awww, so you think I’m a better driver than you?”, he coos.

“Absolutely not. I have never and will never say such a thing!”, she protest indignantly. “Anyway, didn’t you say something about leaving? Now’s as good a time as any, I’d say!”

“Sure, sure, I’ll be out of your feet. By the way”, he leans in closer, with a grin on his face, “that barkeeper has been basically staring at you for a while, so I suggest you start with him.”

Gemma laughs and pushes him away, but he doesn’t miss the interested glance she shoots in the guy’s direction.

Harry makes a quick goodbye to the few people he knows at the party, excusing himself by acting as if he’s been buried in work, promises Gemma he’ll text her once he’s at the hotel, and finally steps outside into the cool night air, filling his lungs to the brim and letting out a long sigh.

The party was nice enough, but the long drive and the hectic London atmosphere feels draining to him already.

Maybe he’s getting too used to country life too quickly, he thinks, as he walks off into the direction of the hotel he and Gemma are staying in for the night. It’s barely a fifteen minute walk away and he’s in the mood for some fresh air anyway, so he walks past the Underground, pulling up a map on his phone to verify the direction he’s walking in.  
He pockets the phone again after a quick look. They walked the same way only a couple of hours ago, he’s sure he can remember the way.

Ten minutes later he finds himself completely lost in a jumble of narrow backstreets, unsure how he got here in the first place. The alcohol mixed with the shock of the cold night air isn’t doing him any favours either. He stumbles on, trying to find his bearings again, digging around in his coat pocket for his phone.  
It’s gone. Did he manage to lose his phone?, he thinks.

A young boy comes up to him on otherwise the empty street. “Need a light, sir?”, the child is holding a lantern.

“I’m alright”, he mutters. He’s almost home, only a few more steps and then he’s inside the familiar house. One of the man-servants is still up, taking his coat off of him by the door, before he makes his way up the stairs in long strides.

“Edward Farr!” His mother’s voice stops him in his tracks as soon as he reaches the landing to the first floor. “Where do you think you’re going? Not so fast son.” Reluctantly, he turns to his left and enters his mother’s small drawing room.

“Good evening, Mama”, he greets her but his winning smile is met with a stony look. His mother is sitting in her armchair by the fire, looking tired and a little worried, which immediately sends a stab of guilt through Edward’s chest.

“Sit down, dear”, she finally smiles and motions for him to sit in the chair opposite her. “Now, do you care to tell me where you were at this hour?”

He sits down and clears his throat awkwardly. “Don’t worry, Mama. I was at an assembly.”

“An assembly.” She raises her eyebrows. “Do tell me more.”

Edward hesitates. The truth is, that he was at a box club with his friend Henry. They’ve been a few times and Edward is still buzzing from the adrenaline of being in the small club amidst sweaty strangers, warm wine cursing through his veins and lavishly dressed women and men crowded around him – it’s exhilarating!

But it’s not exactly something he can tell his mother. “I was with Henry Bennett, mother. I believe you know his dear mother, Mrs. John Bennett –”

“Yes, I know Mr. Bennett, thank you very much. I don’t think he’s suitable company for you, though. Mrs. Long tells me he’s got a serious gambling problem”, his mother, usually a soft, loving woman, looks positively fuming at the thought.

She’s not wrong. Henry loves gambling, as well as boxing, drinking and sleeping with various women.

“Mama, believe me, I wasn’t gambling”, Edward says, truthfully, but his mother doesn’t budge.

“We were at a men’s club, that’s all.”

“Was there drinking?” Her eyes seems to spray sparks and he doesn’t dare lie.

“I had some wine”, he admits quietly.

“And was there gambling?”

“There might have been some light betting. It… it was a boxing club, but Mama it’s –”

“It’s _nothing_ , Edward! That is the last time you go to one of these places, as long as you live under my roof, do you understand?” Her voice is stern, not allowing for any further discussion.

When he finally nods and agrees, her features soften again.“I don’t want to be cross with you, dear”, she says, her voice almost a plea. “Maybe it’s time you resume your studies? You will have to find a profession sooner or later. Your father didn’t leave you enough money to live on, you _know_ that.”

“Yes, I know”, Edward says, defeated. His father, before his death, had secured him a position to study the law, but Edward had soon discovered that it made him miserable and decided to take a break. His prospects were dire, though. He has no interest of going into the church and no connections in trade. He doesn’t know at all what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

“I was thinking…”, his mother’s voice interrupts his unpleasant thoughts. “I’ve had a letter from my brother Joseph. He has agreed to you spending the summer with them in the country – now, don’t interrupt me, please”, she holds up a hand, silencing his immediate protest. “You will spend the summer in the country and when you come back to London in the winter, I want you to start working. And that’s the end of it.”

“But mother! You can’t just… send me away! To _Yorkshire_! I’ve never met your brother!”

“I can, and I will, dear. It will be good for you to get out of the city. And I will not discuss this with you further. My decision is final.” He knows that tone and he knows there is no use in trying to convince his mother otherwise. He crosses his arms angrily and stares into the fire, sulking. The flame flickers and then slowly starts to fade away until there’s only darkness.

Harry blinks. He’s standing on an empty lot between two houses in a street he’s never seen before. It started raining and the water is dripping down his back from where his coat slipped off his shoulder a little. He pulls it up again, feeling disoriented as he staggers back into the narrow road. There’s a pub a few houses down and he can hears quiet voices travel over to where he’s standing, cold and confused.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and calls an uber before he can think twice about it.

Thankfully the guy is there to pick him up in a few minutes and he seems to sense that Harry’s not up for conversation, because he drives him to the hotel in almost total silence, giving Harry an opportunity to try to slow down his racing mind, spinning with hundreds of thoughts.

***

“Edward.” Niall repeats the name slowly, looking completely lost in thought as he’s drying off a pint glass with practised movements. “Yeah, no idea, mate. Sounds a bit old fashioned, though.”

“Funny you should say that”, Harry huffs, furrowing his brows. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since his mysterious episode in London, and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Thankfully Gemma had gone a little too hard last night, meaning she was too hungover to notice anything weird going on with him on their drive back up north. He’s tried and failed to distract himself all day and now that it’s the evening, he finally gave up and decided to give Niall and the Black Bull a visit.

“Found some old love letters hidden under a floorboard or something?”, Niall asks, looking curious.

“Something like that”, Harry murmurs. Despite his almost sleepless night and restless day, he still feels wired, full of anxious energy. He keeps turning last nights events over and over in his mind and the only explanation he can come up with, is that he’s going insane.

Which isn’t very comforting to his anxiety.

Being back home makes him feel a little better. It’s funny really, how it only took him a week of living here and already he considers this place his home, with more conviction than he ever felt while living in Manchester.

“So, was it nice, being back in a bigger city then?”, Niall asks as if he somehow read his mind.

“You know what”, Harry drawls out slowly, “it’s actually much nicer to be _out_ of the city.”

Niall nods knowingly. “It doesn’t take much to get used to the slow charms of country living. You just wait, once you’ve been here a few years, London will seem like some alternate reality to you. I can’t stand it, it’s way too hectic for me. What do you say, Louis?”

Harry’s head shoots up at the mention of the name, and he twists around on his barstool. Once again, he didn’t hear the other man’s footsteps.

“I don’t like London”, Louis hums, leaning one arm on the bar next to Harry casually.

“You sneak like a damn cat”, Harry grumbles, suddenly feeling irritated.

Louis turns to look at him, lifting one eyebrow. His eyes look greyer today, Harry thinks. “I’m sorry, love”, Louis says calmly. “Do you want me to start whistling or something, to let you know I’m coming?”

“There’s an idea”, Niall pipes up behind the bar, his eyes are sparkling as he’s grinning at Louis.

“Your usual poison?”

“’Course”, Louis nods, watching the Irish man fill his pint with foaming golden liquid. He pulls out a wrinkled packet of cigarettes, looking at Harry again. “Do you mind?”

“Smoking?”, Harry shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“Thanks”, Louis rasps, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag, ignoring Niall’s unimpressed stare.

“I thought you’d given that up?”

“You and my mum both.” Louis looks up at Niall innocently. “I come bearing news from the manor, by the way. Zayn says he’s found the documents you were looking for.”

Niall looks absolutely delighted by these news.

“And he asks you to invite him to look them over”, Louis continues.

“ _I,_ need to invite _him_?”, Niall looks scandalized. “What, aren’t peasants allowed at the manor on Sundays any more?”

“I think it’s more a case of his cleaner not having been there since he’s come back from holiday”, Louis deadpans. “Come on, you know Zayn.”

“Well”, Niall turns to Harry again. “When do you want to do this?”

Harry looks at him distractedly. “Do what?”

“Look through some gripping historical documents that Zayn dug up, duh. Tomorrow maybe, if you’re free?”

“Yeah, sure”, Harry lightens up at the prospect. “That sounds great!”

“Alright then, let’s say my place at seven. Louis?”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up again. “Am I invited as well?”

“Of course”, Niall shakes his head, smiling fondly. “You’re always invited.”

“Well, then you better have some food ready.”

“I’ll manage some sandwiches”, Niall’s eyes twinkle. “Oh, by the way. Does the name Edward mean anything to you?”

“Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare?”, Harry repeats, surprised.

“Edward the third? Slightly unhinged king?”

“Oh, right. Yeah, of course.”

“Should it mean anything else to me?”

“No, it’s not important”, Harry quickly interjects. “I just… found the name on some old letters and was wondering if anyone could tell me something about it, that’s all.” Luckily neither of them seems to catch the way he stumbles over the lie.

“Well, I’m probably not the best person to ask about that kind of thing”, Louis smiles warmly at him and his eyes suddenly seem bluer than just a minute ago. “Your aunt Freda could know something, though”, he continues in Niall’s direction. “Or one of the boys”, he nods his head towards the corner table.

“It’s really not important”, Harry assures him.

He feels almost stupid for asking Niall in the first place. After all, what happened last night was probably just the alcohol, or stress, or the lack of sleep. And he doesn’t even know if he _wants_ to know whether young Edward and his mother ever existed, because if they did…

“Well”, Louis sets down his empty pint glass with a satisfied bang, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “I better be off again.”

“You’ll tell Zayn about tomorrow?”, Niall calls after him and Louis turns, already at the door.

“You know, you _could_ just text him yourself.”

“The fresh air will do you good”, Niall smiles promptly and Louis shakes his head with a fond smile of his own.

"Whatever you say, _Neil_ ”, and then he’s out the door.

Niall is still smiling when he turns his gaze back to Harry. “Louis is great!”

“And he reads Shakespeare”, Harry replies.

“You were surprised by that, weren’t ya! Didn’t think a farmer would dabble in some classic literature?” Harry blushes, feeling called out. “He studied it. English Literature, that is, and some other things I can’t remember. Went to Cambridge and everything”, Niall clarifies and Harry can’t help but feel impressed.

Apparently the blue eyed man with his endearing Yorkshire accent had even more facets; gardener, farmer and now Cambridge alumnus. Harry wonders for a moment, what else he’s been overlooking, when Niall interrupts him.

“That’s where he met Zayn by the way. They were in Cambridge together.”

“Oh, really?”, Harry couldn’t help but feel a little inferior, but it lasts only for a moment. He’d gotten a good education in something that he loved doing and he knows he’s good at what he does.

“What did the heir of Oakwell Manor study in Cambridge, then?”

Niall smiles at his tone. “Business, I think? Not that it really mattered anyway. His path was clear from the beginning. His grandfather founded Morland Electronics.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? So he’s _rich_ rich, huh.”

Niall throws his head back and laughs. “I’m afraid so. You haven’t met him yet, right? You’ll like him though, he’s not at all like …. well like you could imagine him with that info.”

“Oh, we met the other night”, Harry admits, trying to not show his residue embarrassment.

“Oh, really? He’s _very_ good-looking, isn’t he?”, Niall winks.

Harry debates for a moment how to reply, but he’s never been ashamed of who he is and he’s not planning to start now, just because he lives in a rural village. Besides, all of his new friends are his age and seem open-minded enough. Hell, Niall looks like he’s harbouring his own little crush on Louis after all.  
"Yeah, he’s quite something”, Harry decides to go with nonchalance.

Niall grins. “You should have seen him a couple of years ago. All the girls and boys in school had a crush on him, that’s not even an exaggeration. It was hell being his friend sometimes.”

“You were friends back then?”

“We lived together, so it just happened naturally, I guess”, Niall shrugs.

“You lived at the manor?”

“Sorry, I keep forgetting that we’ve just met.” Niall smiles. “I sometimes feel like I’ve known you forever, isn’t that weird? Anyway, yeah, I told you I lived with my aunt, right? Well, she’s the housekeeper at the manor.”

“Wow”, Harry lets out a surprised sound. “So you must be pretty close then.”

“He’s the closest thing I’ve got to a brother”, Niall says simply.

After leaving the pub Harry feels like some more fresh air before turning in for the night, so instead of taking the direct way home, he turns left, in the direction of the church again. If he’s not mistaken, he figures the pathway that he stumbled upon by accident before fainting in front of Zayn Morland should lead him all the way around to the backside of his property.

He strolls idly along, taking in the fresh air that’s slowly beginning to smell of May in full bloom and the first touches of summer.

After a walking for quite some time, another smell starts to take over, that he can’t place at first but after only a moment he identifies it as the sweet, musky smell of horses. And only a few minutes later, he can see the outline of a building through the high hedges on his left that must be the manor’s stable.

On a whim, he walks through a gate that’s almost hidden from view, nestled in between two brushy bushes. The smell intensifies when he steps inside of the old building and his eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting in the stable. It looks like not much has changed since the day the stable were built, the tiny windows with their brass frames look like they’re definitely from a different century and he can feel the irregular cobblestones of the centre aisle underneath his feet.

The grey horse looks at him with intelligent eyes. It’s a tall, regal looking stallion with the distinctive head shape of an Arabian horse and he touches the soft skin around his mouth gently.

“Hello, Navarre”, he whispers.

The horse puffs out some air against his palm in recognition and he smiles, petting his head. Suddenly there’s the sound of footsteps, just around the corner. Heavy working boots that are quickly approaching and he can hear someone whistling –

Startled by the sound, he turns around, trying to make a swift exit, but the footsteps have stopped. As a matter of fact, he’s not even standing in the same stable any more or at least it looks completely altered. The cobblestones under his feet are gone, instead making way for a smooth asphalt and it’s much brighter. He looks up and sees a row of lightbulbs shining down on him. Even the brass windows are gone, exchanged for bigger, much more modern looking ones.

Squinting, and with a sense of slowly increasing dread, he turns around again to look at the horse he just talked to. They grey horse is gone. Instead, a pretty chestnut coloured horse is looking him in the eye. He suddenly feels a wave of nausea come over him.

Without wasting another minute, he starts to run. His mind is completely blank, but there’s an indeterminate panic rising inside of him, shaking him to the bone and he can’t take the time to analyse what just happened.

Instead he runs as fast as he can. He runs almost blindly all the way back to the churchyard and he probably would have run much further, if his foot hadn’t gotten caught in a stray root on the pathway, stopping him with such a force that he loses his balance and falls face down on the dusty ground. Thankfully it hasn’t rained in a couple of days, he thinks with his face in the dirt.

He struggles to get up again quickly, not wanting anyone to find him like this, but the force of the fall knocked the wind out of him, and all he can manage at first is turning to the side, facing the gravestone right next to him.

It’s an old stone, a little weathered, like most of the stones on this side of the church, with vines of ivy growing over it, making it hard to read the name engraved in it. It’s still visible though, and with a little squinting, Harry can make out the words:

EDWARD FARR

1794 - 1881


	4. Chapter 4

The way to Niall Horan’s private flat above the pub leads Harry through one of the most beautiful flower gardens he’s ever seen.

It’s the kind of garden that would be pictured in some sort of travel guide, titled “An English country garden”. Even now, with May just beginning, it’s absolutely stunning, so Harry can only imagine how breathtaking it will be in full bloom. He’s standing on the front steps when he hears a familiar Yorkshire accent behind him.

“Careful, I’m behind you and I’m walking towards you”, Louis announces himself from a distance. “Better?”, he asks, once he’s reached Harry.

“Not at all”, Harry laughs. “You still scared me.”

“Oh boy”, he sighs, “we’ll have to come up with something better then. Don’t want you having a heart attack on my account.”

“Why should you give him a heart attack?”, Zayn’s voice interrupts them. He steps behind Louis, greeting both of them with a smile.

“Harold here thinks I move like a damn cat”, Louis smiles wickedly.

“What?”

“He always sneaks up on me”, Harry tries to explain.

Louis looks disgruntled. “I do not _sneak_ ”, he says indignantly, crossing his arms and his blue eyes carry a challenge in them when he looks at Harry.

“Whatever. I never hear him coming”, Harry explains to Zayn without breaking eye contact with Louis.

“You could just wear heavier boots”, Zayn supplies and Louis looks down to his feet, that are in the heaviest looking working boots Harry has ever seen. Zayn chuckles. “Yeah, okay. I see your point.”

All three of them are staring down at Louis’ mud stained boots pensively, when the sound of someone clearing their throat meaningfully behind them makes them all turn around in unison.

“Do you guys want to come in or should I be coming out?”, Niall asks with a sunny smile on his face. “What are you all looking at?”

“My boots”, Louis says simply and Niall shakes his head.

“Honestly, I’m not even going to bother asking.”

He ushers them into a hallway that’s even narrower than the one on the other side of the house, and up a steep staircase into a cosy and inviting looking attic flat. Harry’s sure he’d have to duck down if he came to close to the outside walls, but he can stand comfortably in the middle. Liam is sitting on one of the worn down couches in the living room area, looking at his phone. He looks up with an excited smile when they enter.

“Hey guys”, he greets them. Harry’s surprised to see him so lively. He always seems sort of bored at the pub. Once again, he thinks, there seems to be more to his new acquaintances than meets the eye at first. Zayn and Louis both greet Liam like an old friend and Louis immediately plops down next to him, slipping out of his boots and putting his feet up on the coffee table, looking like a cat who’s found the perfect spot.

“You’ve got a beautiful garden, by the way”, Harry compliments Niall as he’s sitting down on the couch across from Liam and Louis.

"Thank you. You should be telling Louis, though. He works all the magic, of course.”

“Is there any garden you don’t meddle in around here?”, Harry teases.

“Nope”, Louis smiles at him. “What can I say, I love gardening… and meddling. And I hate seeing people letting theirs go.” He shrugs.

“There was a pretty amazing vegetable patch around your property once as well, did you know? Not the tiny one next to the door. Eddie planted grass over it though. Didn’t want to the hustle.”

“The one where the ghost appeared? The green gentleman?”

“Exactly”, Zayn cuts in, sitting down next to Harry. “You’ve dabbled in the local legends already, I take it?”

“I find it fascinating”, Harry admits. “I never had a ghost before.”

“Well, you don’t necessarily have one now. The guy hasn’t been seen since I was still in nappies. Unless you’ve spotted him lately?”

“No, not yet.”

Niall comes back from the open plan kitchen, handing Zayn an amber-coloured drink. “But he did find some old letters, right Harry? Do you know anything about some guy called Edward living in Greywethers?”

“Edward…”, Zayn takes a sip of his drink, thinking. “I’m not sure. Do you know his surname?”

“Farr”, Harry supplies. “I found his grave in the churchyard.”

“Edward Farr… No I can’t think of anyone, sorry”, Zayn muses. “But maybe we’ll find something in here.” He pulls a heavy looking binder out of a tote bag he’d been carrying under his arm.

“Louis, a beer?”, Niall is still standing next to them and, when Louis nods, turns to Harry. “And what do you want? To drink, I mean.”

Harry usually has a knack for picking exactly the thing his hosts don’t have, so he tries for a different approach this time. “You’re the barkeeper. How about you surprise me?”, he asks with a hopeful smile.

“Oh, gladly”, Niall beams at him and shuffles back into the kitchen.

“So, what are you into?”, Zayn asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Historically speaking. Everything about your house and property?”

“Well, mostly, yes. But I’m also really interested in the history of the manor”, Harry replies.

“Oh god, here we go”, Louis sighs and shares a meaningful look with Liam. “You’ve done it now.”

“Wait, what have I done?”

“Nothing”, Liam assures him. “Except that Zayn _loves_ talking manor history. We could be here for hours, so settle in”, he jokes.

Niall comes back with two beers for Louis and himself and a fizzy pink drink for Harry and sits down on the only available chair. Harry examines his drink and takes a cautious sip.

“Oh my god”, he exclaims. “This is amazing!”

Niall smiles knowingly. “I thought it would suit you.” Harry wonders what that means, but if Niall sees him as someone who enjoys the colour pink and fruity drinks, then he’s not mad.

“Well, let’s get this over with, then”, Niall jokes once he’s settled down and gestures to Zayn. “You have the stage.”

Zayn rises to the challenge. His demeanour ranges somewhere between an actual actor delivering a monologue on a prestigious theatre stage, a schoolboy holding a presentation in front of his class and the ever noble squire demonstrating his estate. It’s almost as fascinating to watch as it his to listen to.

Harry learns that the manor was built in the latter half of the 16 th  century by a certain Sir George Oakwell, earning it its name of Oakwell Manor. The Oakwell family resided there for almost two hundred years, until the lavish spendings and presumed gambling habits of the last Oakwell heir led to the manor being let out and eventually sold.

It was sold to an Admiral Charles Morland in the year 1782, who had come into some fortune in the Seven Year’s War. Zayn’s features light up at this part. “That’s my first recorded direct ancestor, I guess.” He tries to play it off cool, but Harry can tell he’s excited.

“That’s so interesting, being able to trace your ancestry this far back”, he says.

“Isn’t it?”, Zayn looks around the room into Niall, Louis and Liam’s unimpressed faces. “Well, these guys have heard it all before of course, once or twice.”

Louis catches Harry’s eye and mouths “try a hundred”. Harry grins, but quickly brings his attention back to Zayn. “So what was your ancestor like?”

“Well, as I said, he was a retired Admiral and it’s commonly believed that he bought the house mainly with his son William in mind, who was just about 17 years old at the time. I think he wanted to turn himself and his son into a respected upper class gentleman. He wasn’t of noble birth, you know, and at the time a lot of the general country gentry looked down upon self-made men.”

“So he bought the house to make his son an heir?”

“Yes, basically. It didn’t work out, though. At least not how he probably planned it.”

“Why?”, Harry asks curiously.

“Well, William Morland wasn’t exactly the sitting down type. He apparently despised living in the country, eager to be out in the world, like his father had been before him. We have letters of his mother Jane Morland to one of her sisters where she talks about her grievances. Basically her son was a bit of a hot head, from what we can tell.”

“And that means?”

“He was an asshole”, Louis supplies.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it in those exact words”, Zayn hesitates, clearly reluctant to talk badly about one of his ancestors, “but that seemed to be the general consensus, I guess.”

“Nice”, Harry mutters.

“Well, the history becomes a little hazy in the early 19  th  century. We know that William had a son that was born here, but he must have moved away or somehow disappeared, maybe he died at a pretty young age, because we have no records of him past the year 1810, when his mother Jeanne passed away.”

Louis shuffles around on the sofa across from them before he gets up to fetch himself another beer from the fridge.

“Either way, William, apparently left with no heirs left the manor to a cousin on his father’s side, Arthur Morland after his own death in 1821. Poor Arthur died only six months later, though and since he had no male heirs or other suitable relatives, the estate was sold. Obviously my grandfather bought it back in the eighties, but you already know that.”

“Well, it gets a bit boring after poor Arthur, doesn’t it?”, Louis quips, seated again and wiping his mouth after a long gulp of beer.

“Yeah, why don’t you tell Harry some of the stuff about his house”, Niall suggests.

“Yes, of course”, Zayn complies willingly. He shuffles around in his documents for a moment before he finds what he’s looking for. “There it is. Greywethers. It’s a fair bit younger than the manor. According to these documents it was built in 1748 by a Thomas Bamford, apparently a farmer and probably a tenant to the old Oakwell Family. It’s unclear what happened to the farm when the Oakwells had to give up their estate, but we know that Thomas’ son Robert Bamford sold the farm in 1785 to John Howard, who was – are you alright?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just a shiver”, Harry replies, feeling a bit dizzy but eager to hear more.

“Do you want me to close the window?”, Liam offers immediately and makes Harry smile.

“No, thanks, I’m alright. Please, go on.”

“Alright, where was I? Ah, yes. John Howard. Well, he was definitely a tenant to our dear Admiral Morland. His family kept the land until the very early 20th century, as a matter of fact. The last Howard to live here was John’s great granddaughter or something along those lines, Mary O’Neill. Way ahead of her time, she wore pants and wrote novels. I personally suspect she was a lesbian as well, she had a _close friend,_ a certain Elizabeth Hatch live with her for _years._ Unmarried and childless, as far as we know of course.” He makes a gesture as if to say ‘case closed’.

“Well that seals the deal then”, Harry jokes. “Definitely a lesbian. How exciting! I’d have loved to meet her by those accounts. I could have interviewed her for my book”, he muses.

“You’re a writer?”, Liam asks. “I thought you were an artist.”

Harry blushes. “Well, I’m not a writer _yet,_ but I’m planning to be one.”

“Really?”, Niall leans forward, interested. “What are you planning to write, then?”

“I’ve been toying with this idea for years”, Harry begins slowly, suddenly feeling apprehensive. “Eh, I want to write or well, rather draw, a Graphic Novel about LGBT Art History.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it sure wasn’t the enthusiastic cries and exclamations that Liam, Niall and even Zayn are flooding him with now.

“Dude, that’s _so_ awesome”, Liam almost yells.

Niall is clapping his hands excitedly, “Oh my god, Harry, you’re going to become famous! I can feel it in my bones.”

“That’s super cool”, Zayn agrees. Somehow Louis catches Harry’s eye. He’s the only one that’s still leaning back on the couch but he lifts his beer as if he’s toasting Harry and looks at him as he takes a sip. “That sounds amazing, Harold”, he says softly once he’s swallowed. It’s the second time he’s called him that.

Harry blushes under all of their praise.

“Well, hold your horses. I haven’t even started yet. But that was part of the plan of moving here, you know. To have some peace and quiet so I can focus on the work.”

“And then you met these guys”, Niall jokes, gesturing to the other lads, who immediately protest.

“These guys”, Louis scoffs. “As if you’re not the worst one of us!”

“He looks all innocent, but you’ll see, he’s not the good church boy he wants you to think he is”, Liam jokes, making all of them laugh.

The rest of the evening is spent in pleasant conversation. Harry is surprised how well they fit him into their little friend group. Somehow it feels as if he’s known them all for years already.

***

It’s late when Harry finally makes his way back home, walking with Zayn and Louis. “The offer for a free tour still stands, by the way”, Zayn says when they get to the crossroadsthat leads them in different directions.

“Oh yes, I’d love to whenever you’re ready!”

“How about tomorrow then?”

“Sounds great”, Harry smiles.

“Great! You can just come by in the afternoon whenever you want. I’ll be home all day.”

“Will do. Goodnight!”, Harry waves at both Zayn and Louis.

“See you tomorrow!”

“Goodnight, Harold”, Louis smirks and Harry smiles at the nickname. Apparently Louis decided to stick with it. Harry can’t say he minds it.

The night air feels like summer already and Harry feels light and happy. Suddenly, the light breeze picks up significantly and Harry shudders. Dark, stormy clouds are building up on the sky beyond the roof of his house as he walks up the driveway.

He’s only a few steps away, when the front door flies open with a bang and he can make out the burly figure of a man, just a silhouette against the light inside of the hallway behind him.

“Uncle”, he says, his voice sounding weak in the strong wind.

“Edward”, the man greets him. “There you are.”

It’s a peculiar feeling, the feeling of travelling back through time. Like walking through an open door into another reality, entirely different and yet just as real, just as familiar as the other one. But as he’s stepping through the door to Greywethers now, he leaves Harry Styles and the 21 st  century behind, stepping into the world and body of Edward Farr.

Edward looks at his uncle who is ushering him into the candlelit hall of Greywethers. Joseph Howard is a big man in every sense, tall and broad, sturdily built. The rough fabric of his breeches and coat is straining against his muscly body.

But when he finally smiles, Edward can see the resemblance to his mother’s face.

“I didn’t hear the carriage coming”, his uncle says, looking out into the night one last time before closing the door.

“One of the horses was lame. I walked from the inn.”

“You should have waited until morning”, Joseph reprimands him. “There’s a storm coming.”

“I don’t mind a brisk walk”, Edward replies, trying for a smile. “I shall fetch my belongings in the morning.” His uncle makes a disapproving sound but drops the subject. He walks down the hall, signifying for Edward to follow him.

“Close the door, son.” His uncle sits down behind his big, heavy looking desk in the study with a sigh and looks at Edward sternly. “I hear your conduct has been sub-par lately.”  
Edward clears is throat, unsure what sort of reply is expected of him.

"Your mother felt it right for you to get out of the city for a while. And I don’t blame her. I’ve never liked London. It’s a festering cesspool if you ask me.” His uncle leans back and folds his hands over his stomach, examining Edward for a long moment.

“You are welcome here in our house, son”, he finally says.

“Thank you, sir”, Edward replies, but his uncle lifts his hand.

“You are welcome, as long as you can assure me that there will be no misconduct while you are here. Bilbury is a small village and I will not have my family’s reputation tainted by your foolishness, do you understand me?”

Edward nods quickly. “Yes, uncle. I understand.” Not that there’s going to be many opportunities for reputation tainting here in the middle of nowhere, he thinks, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“Father?”, a female voice comes from the hall and a knock on the door precedes the entrance of a pretty brown haired girl around Edward’s age. “I’m sorry to interrupt”, she says shyly. “Mother has warmed some soup for my cousin in the kitchen.”

“Yes, of course. He'll have some soup”, his uncle says, his voice sounding a little less rough than only a minute ago and his face looks softened at the sight of his daughter.

“Edward”, he turns to him, “this is my daughter, Catherine.”

“Lovely to meet you, cousin”, he bows his head with a smile.

“Would you like to follow me into the kitchen?”, Catherine asks after a quick curtsey.

“Please, I am starving”, he smiles again.

Edward likes the spacious kitchen immediately. It’s warm and inviting, with a huge fireplace and herbs hanging from the ceiling.

“Mama, Edward is here.” A tall, handsome woman around forty had been sitting on a chair by the fire, getting up as they approach her. “Edward, this is my mother. Margaret Howard.”

“Pleased to meet you. Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mrs. Howard”, he bows his head again.

“Don’t be silly, Edward”, she says warmly. “Family is always welcome. And we are family, after all, aren’t we.” Her warm brown eyes examine him for a moment.

“Would you like some warm wine?”, Catherine asks him once he’s seated at the table and he nods, thanking her for the offered glass.

“There is your soup, dear”, his aunt sets down a big bowl of vegetable soup in front of him. “Eat it quickly, while it’s still hot. That shall warm you right up.”

The soup is hot and delicious and with a stomach full of warm wine and soup, the hardships of his journey and the prospect of spending the summer away from his beloved London seem to fade a little.

“You must be tired”, his aunt smiles at him, when he’s finished his bowl. “And you had to leave your belongings at the Inn?”

He empties his glass of wine and nods, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “James can lend him one of his nightshirts”, his uncle says.

Right on cue, the backdoor opens and a young man with blonde hair and a kind face steps into the kitchen. “The sheep are inside in case it rains, sir”, he announces. “Don’t want the coats to get wet before shearing.”

“Very good, James”, Joseph acknowledges him. “This is James O’Neill, my farm hand”, he says in Edward’s direction. “James, this is my nephew Edward. Show him to his room and please lend him some clean clothes for the night. You should be about the same size.”

“Of course, sir”, James bows slightly. “Follow me”, he says and leads the way.

Edward wishes his family goodnight and then follows James up the narrow staircase and into the first room on the right. “This will be your room”, James says, leaning against the door frame and smiling at him. “Welcome home!”

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you James.”

“It’s just a small room of course, but the beds are more comfortable than they look, I promise”, James says with a cheery grin. “Do you not have your things with you?”

“I had to walk from the Inn”, Edward explains. “Lame horse.”

“I’ll get you a nightgown. Just a moment.” The blonde man leaves only to come back with the promised nightgown a moment later. He hovers by the door for a moment, before saying: “I’m glad to have you here, Edward.”

Edward wishes he could return the sentiment. Instead, he simply smiles and thanks James for his help before closing the door. His head feels a bit foggy, probably from exhaustion.

He makes quick work of changing out of his clothes and wrapping himself up in the surprisingly warm blanket. Not matter how nice everyone is, as he lays there in bed, he feels more alone than he’s ever felt in his entire life. He misses his home in London, he misses his mother, his friends, the sounds of the city that usually lull him to sleep.

It's going to be a long summer. Sighing, he leans over and blows out the candle James put on his night stand, letting himself be wrapped up by the darkness.

***

As a child, whenever he woke up from a nightmare, Harry would always keep his eyes closed a little longer in case a real monster would be lurking by his bed. He feels the same childish instinct now. He’s laying with his back to the cold wall on the bare wooden floor.

Slowly he forces his eyes opens and it takes him a moment to readjust and to blink away the fog. Once he can see clearly, he can make out the shapes of his easel and his drawing desk in the grey light of dawn. Which means that, unless his furniture somehow travelled through time as well, he’s back in the 21 st  century.

He’s cold and his back is aching like after a night of sleeping in an uncomfortable position. Which might be the actual reason, he figures, looking around himself. Apparently he slept on the floor in his studio.

He slowly gets up, still feeling a little dizzy, and straightens out his wrinkled clothes. Looking around the room at his familiar chaos, he feels an overwhelming sense of relief wash over him. Whatever happened last night, he’s back now, in his own house – and his own body.

In a rush, the events of last night come back to him. He looks to the door. That’s where the friendly farmhand James had welcomed him, giving him his nightgown.  
A little unsteady on his feet, Harry stumbles back downstairs and into the kitchen, almost expecting to find his aunt Margaret with the friendly eyes standing between her drying herbs. It’s all back to normal, though. A modern kitchen in an old house. Only the fireplace is still where he left it last night.

“What’s happening to me?”, he whispers in horror.

Suddenly feeling like he’s choking, he bursts out of his backdoor and into the garden, gulping for air in the cold morning. Even before he can feel the hairs in the back of his neck stand up, he can tell he’s being watched. He turns around and finds the rider on his grey horse, right where he expected him to be underneath the old oak tee.

An inexplicable urge of rage wells up in his chest. “Go away!”, he yells desperately. “Leave me alone! _Go away_!” It comes out almost like a sob.  
Slowly, reluctantly, the rider and his horse back away a couple of steps, until the morning fog swallows them and Harry can’t see them any more. Harry shivers and hugs himself closely as he walks back towards the house.

He can’t remember getting in the car but before he knows it, he’s ringing his sister doorbell. Only when she sees her still in her pyjamas does he realise how early it must be.

“Harry?”, she asks, her face going from tired to worried within a single second. “What’s wrong?”

“I -”, he doesn’t know what to say. He came all this way and he didn’t even think about what he wants to tell his sister. He just needs her to tell him everything’s going to be okay. A sob breaks out of his chest and before he can stop himself, he’s crying his eyes out.

“Oh, Harry”, her voice goes all soft as she hugs him and pulls him into the house. Loud, uncontrollable sobs escape him with what feels like a flood of tears. He hasn’t cried like this in years and he doesn’t know where it’s coming from or how to stop. His sister sits him down on the couch, hugging close next to him and petting his hair gently until he’s calmed down a little. “What’s wrong?”

“I – I don’t _know_ ”, he sobs.

“Okay. What do you need?”

He looks at her through a veil of tears. “I want to be okay again. Please, I need to be okay.” He’s not making sense but his sister simply kisses his forehead and hugs him even closer.

“You’re going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay”, she whispers to him over and over again as she cradles him, swaying him like you would a baby. It should feel a little weird or even degrading, but he’s beyond that, right now.

Once he’s finally calmed down enough to get a few words out, he sits up again, looking at his sister’s worried expression.

“I think I’m going insane.”

And then it all comes tumbling out of his mouth. He tells her the full story of him and his house, how he saw it three times before he bought it. He tells her about the moment in the church, about the night in London and the time by the stables. And then he tells her about last night, how he walked up the driveway as Harry but entered the house as Edward and everything that happened afterwards. When he’s done, he’s completely out of breath and Gemma looks less worried and mostly stunned into silence.

“So, yeah. Basically, I’m going insane.”

“Maybe”, Gemma teases him but stops smiling at his expression. “Or not.”

“What do you mean, or not?”

“So, you say this person, this Edward, was a real person?”

“Yes, I found his grave. Edward Farr. He lived in the 19th century.”

“Well. Then I think there’s another explanation for what’s happening to you”, his sister says.

“Is there?”, Harry asks, looking at her quizzically.

“What if everything that’s happening to you is real. As in, it has really happened before, back in the 19th century.”

Harry gives her a look. “What, and you mean I’m -”

“Remembering it”, she finishes his sentence.

He hears himself let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “What, you mean like reincarnation or something? Like the Buddhists?”

“Like Buddhists and many other religions as well, for that matter”, she informs him.

“But that seems… impossible”, Harry whispers.

“Improbable”, Gemma retaliates. “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

They look at each other for a moment. “Okay, Sherlock”, he jokes.

“Maybe Sir Arthur was right, you know.”

Harry groans and buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation right now!”

“Come on, I’ll make you a cuppa.”

“You sound like grandma”, Harry teases her. “Her first reaction to everything was also always tea.”

His sister laughs and disappears into the kitchen, re-emerging after a few minutes with two cups of tea and a plate of sandwiches on a tray. “You looked like you could use some nourishment.”

On cue, Harry’s stomach starts growling and they both laugh.

They drink tea and Harry eats in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. “You know, I’m not _very_ well versed in theology, but as a historian, I have to say that this is thrilling”, Gemma starts up once he’s finished his breakfast.

“Try living through it”, Harry deadpans. “It’s a little less thrilling then.”

“I find it fascinating. I’ve always wanted to go back in time. Nothing permanent, just having a quick glance into different periods”, she says with a dreamy expression on her face. Harry doesn’t feel like laughing but he can’t help it.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? You’re the historian in the family and then I’m the one who’s apparently gifted with the talent of time travel.”

“Well, if we’re sticking to the reincarnation thing, I don’t think you’re _actually_ travelling through time. You’re just remembering it. From a different life.”

“A different life”, Harry echoes. “You realise you sound almost more insane than me?”

She cocks an eyebrow. “I’m not the one breaking down their innocently sleeping sibling’s door at the ass crack of dawn to tell them that I’ve been to the 19th century last night.”

“Fair point.”

“Maybe I should change my PhD thesis. Living history, a study in reincarnation on my brother Harry Styles”, she says teasingly.

“Don’t you dare tell a soul about this!”

She pets his hair again. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I do have to go in moment, my office hours are starting in thirty minutes. Or I could cancel and stay with you? Just do some work from home?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’ll be fine. Go, I’ll just crash on your couch for a couple of hours. I don’t feel like driving back yet.”

“Of course! You can stay as long as you want. You could even stay for the week, if you feel like it.”

Harry thinks about it for a moment. “I think I want to go back. But not yet”, he says with a yawn and a stretch.

“Alright. Then I’ll see you in a bit.”

She dashes off to her bedroom to get dressed and collect her things but Harry’s already asleep before she’s even out of the door.

***

He wakes up feeling refreshed and a lot more normal again and when he wanders into the kitchen to get a glass of water he catches a glance of the time. It’s 1pm, meaning he slept for about four hours.

“Shit!”, he says out loud, suddenly remembering the plans he made with Zayn yesterday. He’s going to have to call Zayn. A quick google search leads him to the official phone number of Oakwell Manor and he hopes that Zayn picks up himself, not sure he wants to explain his situation to someone on his staff.

“’ello”, a male voice answers after three rings.

“Eh, Zayn? It’s Harry”, Harry tries, sounding unsure.

There’s a short silence and when the voice speaks again, he can almost hear the smile shine through the Yorkshire accent. “Hi Harry. Not Zayn, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, hi Louis.” Harry recognises the voice and his Yorkshire accent.

“Zayn’s not in right now, but do you want me to give him a message?”

“Well, I was supposed to come over today for the tour but something came up and I had to drive to my sister’s. I’m afraid I’m not going to make it back until late afternoon, so I’ll have to reschedule.”

“I hope it’s nothing bad?”, Louis sounds genuinely concerned and Harry feels almost guilty.

“No, not at all. Everything’s fine.”

Another short pause. “Are you sure?”

“Yes”, Harry can’t help but smile. “It’s nothing bad.”

“Alright. I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you!”

Shortly after he’s made himself comfortable on the couch again, zapping through the channels on the TV, the door opens and Gemma comes tiptoeing in. She stops when she sees him watching TV. “Oh, you’re awake. That’s good!” She’s carrying a big pile of books alongside two take out coffee cups and her messenger bag. “Take these, will you?”

He takes the coffee off her so she can plonk down the books on the table unceremoniously. “Thanks”, he says as he takes a sip of hot, strong coffee. “That’s exactly what I needed now.”

“I know”, she smiles and sits down next to him, taking her own coffee from him.

“So”, he says after a moment of comfortable silence. “We really think this is happening then?”

“Well, we can’t be _sure_ of course. But yes, I do think it’s the most probable explanation. We’re going to find out more, though.”

“Aha, and how are we going to do that?”

“Well, _I’m_ going to read up”, she pats the pile of books next to her. “I went to the library and got a bunch of stuff on reincarnation.”

“Looks like you found quite a bit”, he raises his eyebrows.

“Eh, there was even more. This is just a best of and some books about the period as well. You said this Edward fellow was born 1794, right?”

“Yeah, exactly two hundred years before me. That’s why it struck me.”

“And he’s about… twenty? You said?”

Harry nods and his sister looks off into the distance pensively. “Let me think… who was king again, back then?”

“George III”, Harry says.

“ _Right_ ”, his sister replies, remembering. “That means we’re entering the regency period of George IV. Unlucky guy, he was only king for about ten years, I think. And I’ve heard people say his reign started under a bad omen. Apparently it was raining all day during his coronation.”

“It wasn’t raining”, Harry replies instinctively.

“It was on a Tuesday, I think", Gemma hums.

“No, it was a Thursday.”

“And I read he looked quite thin and sickly, so many people feared his father’s illness had taken hold of him as well.”

“He was actually a bit overweight.”

His sister gives him a look. “Was he now?”

“Oh come off it, that doesn’t prove anything. I could have read that somewhere!”, Harry protests.

“Okay. And when is the last time you remembered such a seemingly insignificant detail about a king from two hundred years ago that wasn’t even king for very long and didn’t do anything huge that you’d know about?”

“It still doesn’t prove anything.” He crosses his arms.

“Of course not. But it also doesn’t make it any less likely”, his sister says, mirroring his posture.

“Whatever. What am I going to do? You said _we_ are going to find out more.”

“Well, I _assume_ you don’t really have to do anything, really. So far these things have just happened, right?”

“So what, you say I should just wait to see if it happens again?”, he asks, sounding unconvinced.

“Maybe you could pick up reading some Jane Austen”, she jokes. “But yes, I guess all you can do is wait.”  
“Great.”

He resists his sister’s efforts of trying to get him to stay longer. He’s still a little shaken up and he can’t quite wrap his head around anything, but he really just wants to be home right now. Thankfully, because she’s the best big sister, she understands.

“Call me anytime you need anything”, she says as she waves goodbye. “And I’ll come by to visit you soon.”

***

He blasts his favourite playlist all the way back just to drown out his thoughts and it sort of works. Until he reaches Bilbury, that is. Has he really lived here before, he wonders, as he’s driving down the street towards his house, in a past life?

 _Yes_.

The answer washes through him like warm liquid, flooding his entire being. He’s never felt more sure about anything. It’s the exact feeling he felt the day he bought the house. Almost as if he didn’t choose the house, it chose _him._

“Alright”, he says out loud into the silence of his parked car. “I came back. Show me, then.”

Nothing happens. Of course, he thinks. It’s foolish to believe that he could just decide to remember like this. But as he opens the driver’s door and gets out, he sees a movement in his garden, out of the corner of his eye.

A man in green is standing there, staring out into the fields behind his property, absolutely motionless. Harry feels his heart beating rapidly against his chest. _His ghost!_  
And then the man moves and Harry realises it’s just Niall. He sighs with relief and walks around the house and towards him.

“There you are”, the Irish man waves as he approaches. “Louis said you went to see your sister. Everything alright?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. Just some family stuff, but nothing bad”, Harry explains once he’s reached him. Niall is standing within the bounds of the old dovecote, wearing some kind of overall and holding a pitchfork.

“Are you… gardening?”

“Well, I normally don’t. But I’m helping Louis today. Felt like being outside, it’s such nice weather.”

“You’re not helping much, though”, Louis’ voice comes from behind the wall.

Harry hadn’t seen him before, hunched behind the low wall, but he’s straightening his back now, smiling at him while stretching his arms and back. Harry looks away quickly when his shirt rides up his stomach a little, returning his attention back to Niall, who shrugs and says: “Yeah but it’s the thought that counts.”

“Well, I’m not gonna argue with you”, Louis concedes, smiling again.

He looks like a proper farmer today in his faded flannel, old jeans and working boots. A black baseball cap is protecting him from the sun, but Harry can still see the bags under his eyes. He looks almost as tired as he himself felt this morning. Harry thinks about farmer’s getting up at four every morning to milk their cows and wonders once again how somebody could choose such a life.

Louis takes the cap and one of his gloves off to wipe some sweat from his forehead. “I gave Zayn your message, by the way. It wasn’t a problem. He actually got called away as well, some sort of problem at the Birmingham office, but he said he’ll be back in a few days and that he’ll call you then.”

“How will he -”, Harry begins to ask but he sees Niall’s expression and stops himself.

“I didn’t think you’d mind”, Niall shrugs. “He asked me for your number before he left.”

He doesn’t mind, of course. “Well, the garden looks absolutely stunning”, Harry remarks in lieu of an answer. It really does. Louis has obviously been working at it most of the afternoon. He’s planted a beautiful climbing rose on one wall and a few other flowers that Harry doesn’t know the names of. Louis follows his impressed glance and shrugs.

“It’s coming along alright”, he says modestly.

Harry glances at his phone and sees it’s almost four. “Anyone want a tea?”, he asks.

“ _Great_ idea!” Niall immediately drops his pitchfork. Harry sees Louis smile to himself at Niall’s obvious relief before he turns his smile to Harry again.

“I wouldn’t say no to a cuppa.”

The three of them walk over to the backdoor together and although Harry wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, he’s glad he doesn’t have to be alone the first time he steps back into the house.

***

He needn’t have worried. The next couple of days go by without so much of a trace of anything out of the ordinary happening. He’s a little relieved but also strangely disappointed. It’s better that way, he tells himself. He needs to get started on his book any way. So he does. He throws himself into the work and forgets about the rest of the world for a few days.

It’s cathartic when he gets like this, immersing himself completely in a new project. It’s very productive, though and by the weekend he’s already finished a rough outlined and deep dove into three different topics he wants to touch on in the book.

He also becomes very unsociable when he’s like this, which is why he hasn’t spoken to a single person in three days when his phone finally rings on Friday.

“Hello?” He has to clear his throat twice before a sound comes out.

“Do you have a cold or something?”, his sister’s voice comes through the phone.

“Eh, no. I’ve just been working a lot the last few days…”

“So basically you haven’t spoken to anyone since you were here?”

“Well… almost”, Harry admits.

“Good god, you’re such a hermit sometimes. But that’s not what I’m calling about, although I’m even more glad to be talking to you now.”

“What are you calling about then?”, Harry ignores her little stab at his introvert tendencies.

“I did some reading”, she announces, her voice heavy with meaning.

“Oh, did you find out what’s wrong with me?”, he jokes, leaning back in his office chair.

“Well, I did read some interesting things about reincarnation. Do you have a minute?”

“Shoot.”

“Alright. So first of all, there’s a super long list of famous people who believe in it, including Plato and Voltaire. But that’s not why I’m calling. Basically, reincarnation as a belief system exists in both Buddhism and Hinduism. It’s a little complicated, but the gist of it is, that the human soul gets sent back into a life on earth again and again until it has learned certain lessons that are required to enter a higher state of being.”

“Yeah, that’s where karma comes in, right?”, Harry adds.

“Exactly. But that’s of course only the religious standpoint. I’ve also found loads of scientific research that talks about the possibility of reincarnation without any religious connotations.”

“Scientific research? You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all. There’s a bunch of people who take this very seriously. There’s a psychologist somewhere in the States that’s apparently collected over a thousand cases of patients describing some sort of knowledge or memory of a past life. Most cases are children who start talking about being this and that person in a former life. Some of them can even identify places and people from their memories, it’s all very fascinating. But I digress”, she clears her throat, obviously getting back on track.

“The other main branch of research lies in hypnotherapy. I know, that sounds a little esoteric and it might very well be, but there’s literally thousands of cases of hypnotherapists leading their patients through memories of past lives. Usually people find out that they used to be completely normal people, unsurprisingly, just bakers, teachers, workers etc. like everybody else… But most importantly, I found an entire article about spontaneous memories and the author states that his subjects all describe feelings of a ringing sound in their ears, dizziness and even nausea right before an episode. Sound familiar?”

Harry clears his throat again, trying to ignore the little shiver running down his spine at her words. “Sounds like you found quite a bit”, he comments.

“There’s so much more”, his sister sounds proper excited. “Listen, lots of the stuff is online. Why don’t I send you an email with some interesting sources?”

“Sounds great, yeah.”

“Soooo”, she asks, sounding like she’s about to burst with curiosity. “Has anything else happened since last time?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Gemma sounds mildly disappointed. “Not even a dream or something?”

“I can’t remember any dreams.”

“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough.”

“I’m not doing this on purpose, you know”, he can’t help sounding a bit exasperated.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s really sort of funny, isn’t it?”

“What’s funny?”

“Well, on Tuesday you worried _because_ it was happening in the first place and now we’re both disappointed that it’s _not_ happening.”

“Hm”, he grumbles. “It doesn’t feel very funny to me. Just like a weird feeling of… unease.”

“Like a premonition or something?”

“More like I’m being watched. Like someone’s looking over my shoulder, breathing down my neck. Waiting. I don’t suppose you’ve found anything on that during your research?”

“I’m afraid not. But wait… there’s two other things that I found interesting. There’s this one article that says that we tend to surround ourselves with the same people in different lives. So like, your father could be your best friend in another life. The author describes this as ‘soulmates’. Basically people you immediately feel drawn to without really knowing why.”

“Wait, so we could have been siblings in an earlier life already?”

“Or a couple”, Gemma teases him. “Or mother and son. Or daughter. Gender doesn’t seem to matter all that much, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise, I suppose.”

“Huh. Alright, that’s interesting. And what’s the other thing? You said there were two?”

“Right. So, I found this study where most of the participants claimed that they downright decided to be reborn. Like their soul stayed in some kind of limbo until they were ready to be reborn.”

“Okay?”

“Well, didn’t you say your house had a ghost? The green gentleman?”

“True, but he hasn’t been seen in over twenty years”, Harry shrugs.

“And it hasn’t occurred to you”, Gemma says slowly, “that it’s been around twenty-five years since your birth?”

***

 _Tread lightly…_ The words pop into his mind unsolicited as he’s standing in front of Edward Farr’s grave in the afternoon. The sky is dark and cloudy, mirroring his mood.

Oscar Wilde. He’d studied him with vigour during his English A levels, feeling some sort of strange kinship with the man that had lived so many years before him. Probably because he was also a gay man and Harry always felt particularly touched by his prison sentence, thanking the heavens that he was born in a much more liberal time. Not that he hasn’t experienced his fair share of homophobia in his life but at least he was able to date freely without fearing prosecution.

 _All my life’s buried here, heap earth upon it._ The last line of the poem is running through his mind on loop. Shouldn’t he be doing the opposite? Shouldn't he be digging for answers instead?

_All my life’s buried here…_

A cold gust of wind ruffles his hair and he looks up, awoken from his reverie. He’s unsure what to do but he doesn’t feel like going home again, so he decides to go for a walk instead.  
He’s barely turned away from the grave, when it happens. A sudden wave of dizziness hits him as he staggers blindly out onto the path leading him towards the manor.

“Bloody hell!”, a loud voice yells behind him and he whirls around to find himself face to face with a huge grey horse. “Can’t you look where you’re going man!”

Edward lifts his face to look at the rider but the sun is right behind his head, making it impossible to see clearly. “My apologies, sir… mylord”, he stutters, squinting towards the sun, his heart hammering against his chest.

“Are you hurt?”, the man’s voice sounds softer suddenly and he moves his horse so Edward doesn’t need to squint directly into the sun any longer. Finally able to see, he observes the tall figure of a dark haired man with striking blue eyes, wearing a black coat.

Edward shakes his head, finding himself unable to speak for a moment.

“Have you lost your voice Mr. Farr?”, the man asks with a glint in his eyes. “I always thought the people of London are all supposed to be positively chatty.”

Edward clears his throat. “You know my name, sir?”

“Well, not many strangers make it to this small speck of earth and word travels fast in the village.”

“You seem to be at an advantage, sir…”, Edward juts his chin forward.

The man chuckles and bows his head mockingly. “Captain William Morland, at your service.”

Edward bows his own head, partly in greeting and partly because he can’t stand looking at William Morland’s face any longer. He has a beautiful face with noble features, framed by thick, dark hair that falls into his face elegantly and he’s gifted with a tall, lean figure but most disarming were his eyes – they were a shade of blue Edward had never seen before in his life and they seemed to pierce right through his soul.

“Mylord”, he murmurs, feeling himself blush.

The Captain chuckles and his raspy voice sends a shiver down Edward’s spine. “I’m no Lord.”

“Apologies, sir. Captain, I mean.” His cheeks are burning with embarrassment now.

“You are certain I didn’t hurt you?”, William Morland asks again, his brows furrowed in concern.

“I am sure, sir. Thank you.”

“Then I wish you a good day, _Mylord Farr_ ”, he says with a wicked smile, his eyes boring into Edward’s for another moment before he turns his horse and rides away, leaving Edward alone with his beating heart and burning cheeks.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day feels like summer has come early. There’s a whole army of bees at work in the flowerbeds that line the way to the imposing front doors of Oakwell Manor, too busy pollinating to care about the crowd of tourists that found themselves waiting, chattering animatedly amongst themselves, in front of the main doors for the official tour at 2pm.

“Let’s go round the back”, Zayn says quietly next to Harry, eyeing the accumulation of people. “Saturday’s always our busiest day. We should probably give the crowd a good fifteen minute head start. Would you like to take a look at the rose garden in the meantime?”, he asks in the posh voice of a distinguished tour guide.

“That would be lovely”, Harry replies in the same mocking tone and they stroll off under the watchful eyes of at least half of the waiting tourists, although Harry doubts that any of them suspect the beanie and band-shirt wearing man next to him to be the owner of the house himself.

The rose garden, Zayn tells Harry as they slowly make their way over the lawn, takes up most of the north wall that separates the manor’s property from the churchyard. The bell tower looms over them, keeping a watchful eye on the manor. The garden itself is an intricate design of geometrical flowerbeds reminding Harry of a maze. He says as much and Zayn chuckles. “It was a disaster to restore for that exact reason. It took us ages and we had no clue what we were doing until Louis finally figured out that it’s an exact replica of the ceiling pattern in the dining room. There was a real maze somewhere on this property at some point apparently, but someone had it chopped down during Victorian times.”

“That’s a shame. I used to love mazes as a child!”

“Well then I’ll have it restored someday”, Zayn teases him.

“My mum, my sister and I got lost in a maze one day”, Harry recalls. “We were visiting some old country estate, not unlike yours here, and _they_ had a maze, so of course I made them go in with me. I was so excited, until we’d been in there for about an hour and there was no end in sight. That sobered me up pretty quickly, I remember. My poor mother was about to lose her patience I think, having me beg her to come along first and then beg her to lead me out again – granted, she also had no idea how to get out at this point.”

“Oh my god, that sounds awful”, Zayn laughs. “How did you get out?”

“Once my sister, who’d watched us struggle with stoic serenity, got hungry, she swiftly lead us out of there. Not a single wrong turn.”

“Amazing! I’d love to meet her one day, she sounds remarkable.”

“She is”, Harry smiles. “She’s probably the smartest person I know.”

“Is she alright, though? Louis told me you had to drive down there the other day?”

“Oh that wasn’t anything big actually. A false alarm”, Harry lies, feeling a small stab of guilt at the lie. “How did you like your visit to Birmingham?”

“Well, _like_ maybe isn’t the right word”, he sighs, scratching his head. “I’m not used to being the head of Morland yet. It always makes me feel a little uncomfortable, having people act like I’m the boss.” He wipes a hand over his face and smiles again. “I came back yesterday afternoon, I actually just barely missed you.”

“Missed me?”

“Yeah, weren’t you here yesterday? I saw you walking back towards your cottage, so I figured you’d been here…”

“Oh”, Harry puts on a smile to hide his shock. “No… I was actually just visiting the churchyard. I find it very calming.”

Of course, in theory he knew that all of his flashbacks happen in real time and that he moves around in the actual spaces, the way it happened in London and in his own house. If Edward opens a window, he does as well, granted the window still exists. But he hasn’t given much thought to the real life consequences of that. What if someone sees him? Or god forbid, tries to talk to him, while he’s walking around probably looking like he’s sleepwalking in bright daylight?

Let alone all the ways he could hurt himself during one of these flashbacks. If there was only a way to control it, to influence the time and space.

“We should be safe now”, Zayn’s voice brings him back from his thoughts. “They should be in the servants’ wing by now. Come on, let’s go.” He leads Harry back to the front of the house, shifting into full on tour guide mode. “Well Harry, let me start this tour properly by welcoming you to Oakwell Manor. What you’re looking at right now is the south wing that was added in the late 18th century. My wing of the house is the much older and frankly, more interesting one, but this one is obviously more beautiful and much more imposing.”

They make their way through the entrance hall and several of the downstairs rooms in a similar manner, with Zayn entertaining him with interesting facts and playing the part of the diligent tour guide deceptively well. The house is impressive to say the least. The main kitchen alone is as big as Harry’s entire first Manchester apartment used to be, but Zayn tells him that he’s got a much smaller and more practical kitchen in his private wing.

Finally they make it to the room Harry was most looking forward to. “And here we have the library”, Zayn announces solemnly.  
Harry has always loved old libraries like this, the smell of the old books, the way these rooms always seem to convey a sense of serene intelligence. This one isn’t an exception. He can’t hide the awe on his face as he looks around the room with its floor to ceiling bookcases filled with knowledge and pleasure, the beautiful large windows complete with comfortable looking reading nooks in the windowsills.

“This is beautiful”, he says in an involuntary whisper.

“Yeah, I guess it’s alright”, Zayn shrugs and they both laugh at Harry’s obvious expression of shock. “I’m joking. It’s always been my favourite room of the house.”

“I can see why”, Harry grins as he looks around in awe. But the grin dies on his face when his eyes fall on a picture in the back corner of the room.

It’s a fairly large portrait, showing a young man from the waist up, wearing a black coat, his dark hair looking just a tiny bit tousled, just enough to look fashionably rugged.

“ _William_ ”, Harry breathes out, taking a step toward the picture without thinking about it.

“What?”, Zayn asks, looking a bit confused. Harry tries to recover from the gut punching shock, clearing his throat.

“Who’s this?”, he points to the picture.

“Oh, we actually don’t know, sadly. There’s no name and we couldn’t match it to any of the other family portraits. Don’t even know if he’s one of my ancestors or not”, Zayn shrugs. “We dubbed him Casanova for obvious, superficial reasons.”

“He is very handsome”, Harry finds himself agreeing. “I mean…” He tries to back paddle, feeling himself go a little red, but Zayn interrupts him.

“Oh yeah, he’s dashing, isn’t he? I think he’d make a great model if he lived today.”

The irony of _Zayn_ of all people uttering a sentence like this all the while looking wistfully into the distance, distracts Harry enough from the shock of seeing Captain William Morland again to let out a genuine laugh.

Because of this he is sure, this man is William Morland, the same man he – or rather, Edward – met just yesterday. The painter did an exceptional job of capturing his features, the elegant face framed by his dark hair, a little longer here than Harry remembers it. Even the look in the painted blue eyes reminds him of the sparkle that he saw in Captain Morland’s eyes when he smiled down at him from his tall horse.

Zayn’s phone starts buzzing next to him and he excuses himself profusely before he takes the call and leaves the room, but Harry barely notices. He can’t stop looking at the portrait.  
Why isn’t there any record of William Morland, if he’s clearly been here in early adulthood? Harry saw him with his own two eyes, after all. Why is there no name on this picture?

“He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”, a gentle voice asks right next to him, startling him. Her soft green eyes seem strangely familiar to Harry but he can’t quite place her. “It’s a very fine picture”, she continues, still smiling at him. And then he recognises her as one of the kind people who visited him during his first week.

“Mrs. Hutcherson, right?”

Her smile grows. “Yes, dear. How are you settling in?”

“Oh, very well, thank you. I didn’t know you worked here.” It’s a stupid thing to say, he thinks, how should he have known, after all.

“I’m the housekeeper here”, she smiles, a humorous twinkle appears in her eyes.

Finally, something clicks inside of Harry’s mind. “You’re Niall’s Aunt Freda!”

“That I am”, she laughs. “Alfreda Hutcherson, nice to meet you, Harry Styles.”

“I’m sorry”, he blushes, but something in her smile silences his apology.

“Don’t be, darling.”

He feels oddly naked under her gaze all of the sudden, like she’s looking right at his soul. And then she turns to look at the picture again.

“What a handsome young man. It’s a shame nobody knows his name. Somebody must have loved him once.” She looks back to Harry. “Well, you’ll have to excuse me now. I’ve got to get the windows on the first floor cleaned while the sun’s still out. I hope you enjoy the rest of your tour!”

And with another warm smile she slips out of the door again before he can say anything else. He hears her steps creaking on the old wooden floors of the corridor. How strange, he thinks, that he didn’t hear her come in at all.

He looks back to the picture. William Morland is smiling back at him. _Somebody must have loved him once_ , Mrs. Hutcherson’s voice resonates within him. And once again, a small yet certain voice replies. _Yes,_ it said with poignant clarity. _I loved him._

But he suddenly realises he already knew that. He’s known it, as it seems, for quite some time. And he’s got the slightly disconcerting feeling, that Alfreda Hutcherson knows as well.

“So sorry about that”, Zayn lets himself back into the room after another minute or so. Harry smiles reassuringly at him.

“Don’t worry about it. Gave me an excuse to admire the room a little longer.”

“Well, ready to see the bedroom or do I need to take you out to dinner first?”, Zayn asks in a playfully flirty tone.

“I thought you’d never ask”, Harry jumps at the joke.

They make their way up to the first floor of the west wing.

“This is where all the family bedrooms were. There used to be a guest wing in the east corridor, but that’s being renovated at the moment.” He leads Harry through a few bedrooms that all look essentially the same apart from the varying wallpapers – there’s a flower room, a nautical room, a striped room and then they reach the last one. “Finally, the blue room”, Zayn proclaims dramatically, opening the door to the last bedroom.

“Just blue?”, Harry asks, almost disappointed.

“It’s strangely fitting beyond the blue wallpaper, you’ll see”, Zayn wiggles his eyebrows in a meaningful way but doesn’t explain further.

A strange feeling of recognition overcomes Harry as he steps into the room. It’s spacious and equipped with a huge four-poster bed in the centre. Something about it makes it seem very subtly but distinctly masculine, like the smell of an aftershave that hangs back in a bathroom.  
Harry takes another step in, slowly walking towards the big window overlooking the lawn, when he suddenly feels a cold shiver run down his spine and he shudders despite the actual temperature staying the same.

He hasn’t even reached the window yet, when he’s suddenly hit by a wall of emotion. His heart rate accelerates in a sudden burst of anxiety thrumming through his veins that makes his hands go clammy and his stomach turn. The feeling turns into a panicked fear, so strong that he feels dizzy and underneath it an all-consuming anxious litany, almost like a prayer – a desperate hope in the moment of despair.

He can feel himself stumbling forward, his hand reaching for the window frame as tears start clouding his vision. Slowly, the overwhelming feeling subside, leaving him empty and nauseous.

“You felt it, didn’t you?”

“What…?”, Harry can’t get out a full sentence yet, supporting his weight on the cool wood of the window frame. Zayn walks towards him, looking apologetic. “What was that?”

“I’m so sorry. I should have warned you but I was curious… You’re not the first person to experience this in here.”

“Other people have felt this too?”

“Yes. It’s – in lieu of a better expression – something like a ghost. Or an imprint of a feeling, as Mrs. Hutcherson calls it. I am very sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine”, Harry’s regaining his bearings again. “So this is one of your famous ghosts, huh? Can you feel it, too?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, I’ve never been able to. We haven’t quite gotten behind the pattern yet. It’s just… some people feel it, others just don’t.”

“Huh. Do you know what it is? Where it comes from, I mean?”

“Well, we tried to find out of course, but sadly there’s no record of who lived in this room, so we don’t really know what happened here. It must have something to do with the room, though, because it always happens right here, where you’re standing now.”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with the room”, Harry says, but then he catches himself.

Zayn looks at him strangely.

“Just a hunch.” Harry shrugs. “It seems like he saw something out of this window. Something… terrible.” His voice breaks and he clears his throat again. Zayn is still looking at him with an expression stuck somewhere between worry and caution.

“He?”

“Eh, or she, I mean, of course...”, Harry stutters, feeling caught. But Zayn doesn’t prod deeper. Instead, he takes Harry by the arm gently.

“Do you maybe want to go somewhere else? There’s a little courtyard right down the stairs, maybe some fresh air would be nice?”

Harry agrees and lets Zayn guide him downstairs and out of a heavy looking door into the inner courtyard that was visible from the window upstair. It reminds him of a cloister at some sort of monastery with its pillared gallery and he’s surprised to see it looking almost completely abandoned. It’s pretty but looks almost completely abandoned – no sign of the beautiful composition of plants that enrich every other corner of the estate. Clearly, Louis hasn’t touched this corner of the property.

Harry can’t blame him. Maybe it’s just the residue of the emotions he just experienced upstairs, but something about the courtyard makes him feel uneasy. The walls seem too high and too close to each other, making the air feel weirdly stuffy, although they are outside.

“Sorry, it’s not the prettiest part of the gardens”, Zayn shrugs apologetically. “But it was closest and you looked like you needed some air and quiet.”  
Harry nods absent-mindedly, his gaze locked on the small door in the back wall that’s almost entirely overgrown by ivy. He feels a nervous flutter at the sight that he can’t place. “We’ve never gotten around to fixing this place up”, Zayn murmurs. “Louis refuses to work here. He doesn’t like this place, says it reminds him of a grave.”

Harry can see why. He feels it too, a claustrophobic feeling, like the air is too thick to breathe properly.

Zayn’s warm hand on his arm shakes him out of his thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

“Better”, Harry says, trying to ignore the stuffy atmosphere of the courtyard.

“I’m sorry about that. Maybe I should have warned you, but I thought it might ruin the effect”, Zayn’s eyes look worried. “People don’t usually react this… strongly.”

“Maybe I’m a medium”, Harry tries for a joking tone. He can’t share his real theory – that the feeling has something to do with Edward.

“Maybe”, Zayn chuckles. “You should have a chat with Mrs. Hutcherson then. Hey”, he puts his arm around Harry’s shoulder jovially, “you up for an apology drink at the pub?”

Harry agrees whole-heartedly, ready to get out of here. He’s had enough other-worldly experiences for one day.

***

The Black Bull is absolutely brimming with people. Zayn and Harry make their way through the bustle of the Saturday night crowd to the bar, where they find Louis nursing a pint and Liam, miraculously looking completely relaxed, lounging in his typical spot, newspaper and all. The pub is so busy that it takes Niall a good while until he’s able to fight his way back to the bar, busy enough that at some point even Liam feels obliged to abandon his spot, carrying four whole runs of drinks and food around the room, before he sits down again with a sigh and an idle wave in Zayn’s and Harry’s direction.

“So”, Niall asks once he’s back in his spot behind the bar, looking slightly sweaty but cheery as always, “let me guess. You gave Harry the grand tour today?” Zayn and Harry nod in unison. “And as a thank you for this great privilege, Harry has now agreed to let you buy him a drink?”

“That is correct”, Zayn grins.

“Well, well. You struck quite the deal, then”, Niall nods approvingly in Harry’s direction. “What can I get you boys?”

“I’ll take a gin and tonic”, Harry smiles.

Two seats over, on Zayn’s other side, Louis leans forward to give him grim a look. “What kind of drink is that supposed to be anyway? Are you a middle aged woman that just had a divorce from her cheating prick of a husband?”, he asks with a frown.

Niall cackles. “Ignore him. He’s having one of his moody days.”

Louis gives him an icy look. “I’m not moody!”

“See what I mean?”, Niall laughs, sliding Harry his drink.

Zayn turns to Louis, looking him up and down. “You do seem a little… crabby. What’s crawled up your ass and died?”

“Nothing. Everything’s just _wonderful_ ”, Louis’ voice is dripping with sarcasm and Harry thinks he’s never seen his blue eyes look so icy before. “And I’m not _crabby_ , thank you very much.”

He takes a long gulp of beer, wipes his mouth and pulls out a cigarette, his entire posture posing a challenge. Zayn and Niall exchange a meaningful glance before Niall plucks the cigarette from Louis’ lips and points to the door.“Take those outside. No smoking in here, you know the rules.”

Louis sighs and pockets the packet again, finishing his beer in one big gulp instead and placing the empty glass in front of Niall pointedly. Niall fills it up and turns his attention back to Harry.

“So, the manor is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s stunning”, Harry agrees. “More imposing than I thought it would be, to be honest, and I absolutely _loved_ the library!”

“And he also got a taste of my ghosts”, Zayn winks. “I think he got a little bit of a scare in the blue room.”

“ _Oh_ , you felt it, too?”, Niall’s eyes are gleaming. “It’s freaky, isn’t it? What was it like for you?”

Harry clears his throat awkwardly. “Eh, it felt anxious. And then like a… shock followed by this overwhelming feeling of… despair.”

He shrugs and tries to shake the feeling. Niall is nodding along furiously. “Yes, yes! That’s exactly it!”, he seems positively delighted. “Bit scary, isn’t it? But also a little exhilarating, right?” It’s not exactly the word Harry would use to describe it, but before he gets the chance to reply, Louis leans over again.

“So you’re a believer, then?”, he looks at Harry with an unreadable expression. “In ghosts and all that, I mean.”

Harry juts out his chin a little. “I think so?” He sounds a little too unsure, so he keeps going. “I mean, I definitely believe there’s some things in this world that we can’t explain, which doesn’t make them any less real.”

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio”, Louis quotes. “Well, but then again Hamlet was a complete nutcase of course.”

“You don’t believe there’s things that we can’t explain away with science?”, Zayn asks.

Louis lifts his eyebrows. “Of course I do. I’ve just never felt anything particularly spooky at the manor.”

“You should ask aunt Freda about that, she’ll tell you a different story”, Niall smiles.

“Yeah, she tells me she’s seen quite a few ghosts up there actually”, Zayn adds.

“Well, your aunt Freda sees a lot that other people don’t”, Louis takes another long sip. “Five hundred years ago she’d have been burned at the stake.”

“Careful now. Don’t let her hear that”, Zayn warns him but Louis only smiles.

“She knows what I think. Besides, I never said I don’t like witches.”

“She’s really something, isn’t she”, Zayn laughs at Niall’s raised brows. “Come on, you gotta admit that her ability to keep the manor clean and deal with my messy ass is bordering on supernatural.”

“Oh, come off it, lads”, Niall protests. “Have you met my aunt?”, he turns to Harry.

“Mrs. Hutcherson? Yes, twice actually. She came to my house when I’d just moved in and I talked to her earlier, in the library. She seems very nice.”

“See? Harry thinks she’s nice”, Niall says triumphantly.

“Yeah, of course she’s _nice_ ”, comes Zayn’s reply.

“A nice witch”, Louis chuckles, prompting Niall to throw his dish towel at him.

“Wait, so has your aunt Freda ever actually seen the ghost in the blue room?”, Harry is curious.

Niall nods. “Yes. Apparently she saw him when she first started working there. She says it’s a handsome young gentleman. Tall, with dark hair.”

“Wearing a green coat, by any chance?”, Harry half-jokes.

“You think your ghost is hiding in my bedroom?”, Zayn raises his eyebrows with surprise.

“Must be a boring place for him”, Niall cackles and that makes even Louis laugh. His mood seems to lighten up a bit after that.

“Speaking of your ghost, I’d be happy to dig up that vegetable of yours again if you’d like”, he offers Harry with a much softer look in his eyes.

“God, no. I couldn’t take care of vegetables! I’m a perpetual plant killer, I’m afraid.”

“Harry thinks you should take care of my courtyard first, actually”, Zayn smirks.

“What, that old tomb?” He narrows his eyes. “Maybe I’ll get around to it someday”, he says. “You never know.”

“And when exactly do you think you’ll find time for that?”, Niall asks. “The man can’t even take a Sunday off. I ask him for help _once,_ and he blows me off…”, he says with an exaggerated sigh. Louis rolls his eyes.

“I can’t this Sunday. The boys are coming down all the way from Scotland.”

“The boys?”, Harry asks.

“Shearers”, is his reply. “For the sheep.” And with an indulgent eye roll towards Niall he says, “I’ll get to your leaking sink first thing next week, promise.”

“Is there anything you don’t do?”, Harry leans forward in his seat to get a better look at him. “Sheep farming, gardening for practically everyone, working at the manor and now plumbing as well?”

“I’m a man of many talents”, Louis winks, his eyes sparkling.

“Speaking of talents, I assume you’ve forgotten you promised to help me fix the fence on the south enclosure today, Mr. Morland?”, he turns to Zayn, who lets out a weary sigh.

“Did I really?”

“You really did. Come on now, big guy”, Louis pats his friend’s shoulder firmly. “Playtime’s over, let’s get back to work!”

Zayn looks to Niall and Harry for help hopelessly, both of them desperately trying not to laugh at his fearful expression. “Drink up, my friend”, Louis orders him after finishing his own beer.

***

“Phew”, Niall breathes once the two other men are out the door. “At least Louis was smiling again by the end. I swear, that man and his mood swings.” He shakes his head, a fond expression on his face. Harry clears his throat, unsure how to phrase what he’s about to ask.

“Earlier, when they were talking about your aunt. Why do you think they were calling her -”

“A witch?”, Niall smiles. “I suppose she’s always been a bit _clairvoyant,_ if you catch my drift. Always knew when I’d done something I wasn’t supposed to or gotten my heart broken, stuff like that. She always seem to know everything, somehow. Besides she’s just very…”, he hesitates, seemingly fishing for the right words. “She’s very much one with mother nature, if that makes sense. Knows how to heal most common and loads of uncommon ailments and she grows the biggest, most plush vegetables in all of East Yorkshire, for sure! I guess that’s basically what being a witch is really about, isn’t it? Do you want me to top you off, there?”

Harry looks down on his almost finished drink. “No thank you”, he declines. “I should be getting home. I finally started working on my book.”

“Oh! How exciting!”, Niall looks genuinely happy for him. Even Liam leans closer, looking interested. “So, what have you got so far?”, he asks.

“Uh, not nearly enough to look this impressed, guys”, Harry chuckles, but it turns out Liam has great puppy eyes.

After a few minutes of “please, tell us more” from both of them, he finally caves in and gives them a rundown of what he’s planning for the book. He might get a bit carried away, like most times he gets to talk about his work when he’s this immersed in it, but Liam and Niall don’t seem to mind. On the contrary, the seem delighted and Harry’s chest swells with pride, his heart filling with gratitude and love for the great people he’s met here.

***

It’s a nice, typically mild May evening and after the somewhat stuffy air of the pub, Harry feels thankful for the slight breeze tickling his hair when he finally steps outside.

His head is spinning with all the information as well as the unexpected emotional toll the day took on him, despite the pleasant distractions at the Black Bull.

He finds a stray sheep, maybe a renegade from Louis’ herd, munching on a bush not far from his house. It lifts its head as he draws nearer, looking at with docile eyes, the very picture of quiet country living. “You won’t fool me”, he says to the sheep, almost expecting it to answer. Considering everything that’s been going on with him, he wouldn’t be all that surprised by talking animals at this point.

As it is, the sheep simply goes back to chewing idly, with no care in the world whatsoever. Harry envies it a little.  
He’s not even been here a full month and yet it’s definitely been the most eventful time of his entire life so far. And he can’t shake the feeling that his journey here has only just begun.

***

That night he can barely get to sleep, tossing and turning for hours without being able to quiet his overactive mind. Despite his lack of sleep he wakes up unusually early the next morning.

A glance at his phone tells him it’s not even 5 am and yet he feels like his limbs are buzzing with anxious energy.

There’s no way he’s going to be able to go back to sleep like this, he decides, so he gets up and makes his way downstairs to start up a coffee. Looks like he’s going to need it today.

While the old coffee machine, the one he got as a gift from his parents when he first moved out, noisily gets to work, he sits down at the kitchen table, blankly staring out of the window. The sun is only just starting to come up and it’s still fairly dark without the lights on, but his tired eyes don’t feel ready yet for the harsh electric light.

He finds a candle in one of his cupboards and lights that instead, staring at the hypnotising movements of the flame. Hypnotising… he thinks and suddenly feels fully awake. Of course!

Didn’t Gemma talk about hypnotherapy the other day? Maybe there is a way he can control the flashbacks after all, he thinks. If he could only figure that out, gaining a bit of control back to make sure he doesn’t wander around Bilbury’s high street in his underwear looking like an absolute nutter one of these days. It would definitely calm his anxiety about the whole reincarnation flashback situation – as much as that’s even possible.

Full of energy he dashes upstairs to get dressed, just in case, before he runs back down to the kitchen, his coffee long forgotten. He sits down at the table again, focusing solely on the flame of the candle in front of him and tries to calm his mind. It feels a bit like the meditation course he took a couple of years ago when he got super into yoga after a breakup.

Just when he starts feeling a bit silly, he hears someone come into the kitchen.

“Oh, goodness. You’re awake early!”, an already familiar voice says. “Good morning, Edward!”


	6. Chapter 6

He turns around with a tired smile.

“Morning James. Couldn’t sleep”, he shrugs.

“All the better for me”, the blonde man replies with a wicked grin, pouring himself a cup of the hot tea Edward prepared only a moment ago. “That means I’ve got someone to help me fix the gate to the pigsty. One of the pigs almost escaped last night when I fed them, so I had to barricade it with a rock for the night.”

He sighs after his first sip of tea and wipes his mouth. “Barricading was easy enough, but I could use the extra pair of hands for fixing it.”

Edward can’t help but smile. He’s only been at his uncle’s house for two weeks, but he’s come to really like James. His cheerful nature has been a real blessing, keeping him distracted from the fact that he misses his life in London. Whenever he feels like he’s missing out on something back home, or when he’s annoyed at a task he has to do on the farm, James seems to be right around the corner with a sympathetic smile and a light-hearted joke on his lips.  
Edward would never admit this out loud, but he’s slowly beginning to enjoy his country life.

Which is why he finds himself outside in the still cold morning breeze only thirty minutes later, holding a hammer he barely knows how to use. James happens to be a fairly patient teacher though and when they come back into the kitchen an hour later with reddened cheeks and laughter on their lips, he almost feels as if he could be trusted to put a nail in a wall any time it should be necessary.

His uncle is sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, a reserved look on his face. “Is the gate fixed?”, he asks James, forgoing any morning niceties.

“It is, sir. I dare say you’ll find it better than before even.”

“Good. You should get ready for church, it’s almost time”, his uncle simply replies, taking another sip of tea as both young men hurry off to their bedrooms to get cleaned up and dressed.

It’s Edward’s third Sunday visiting the parish church. So far in his life the only church services he attended this regularly were the obligatory ones during his time at school. He’s not sure if he enjoys old Mr. Shirley’s sermons all that much, but he knows what’s expected of him here. It’s only a short walk from Greywethers to St. Peter’s but his uncle always makes them get there a little early, forcing them to sit and wait for at least half an hour every Sunday, while watching the rest of the village trickle in, clean-faced and in their best Sunday clothes.

Edward has started passing this time by reciting his favourite poetry in his own mind as he sits in their pew between his cousin and James. He’s decided on Lord Byron today but only gets as far into what he remembers of the first verse of The Bride of Abydos as “ _Know ye the land of the cedar and wine, where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine”,_ debating whether it’s “blossom” or “bloom”, when a sudden jolt ripples through the congregation, accompanied with a whisper as everybody rises to their feet.

Catherine pulls him up with her because he’s too caught up in his Lord Byron to notice his surroundings properly. Confused, he cranes his head to see what the commotion is all about.

Two gentlemen, both tall and dark haired, though one with considerably less hair to show for than his younger, leaner companion, are walking down the aisle towards the usually empty front pew.

It only takes Edward a second to realise that the younger gentleman, dressed in a blue coat and looking dashing as ever, his none other than the owner of a certain grey stallion that almost cost him his life the other day.

“That’s Admiral Morland and his son, Captain William Morland”, Catherine whispers to him.

“I know”, Edward tells her with a small smile, earning him a puzzled look from his cousin.

“How do you -”

“Silence, both of you”, his uncle sneers at them, putting an immediate stop to the conversation.

The small bustle seems to have caught the attention of the young Captain, who looks in their direction as he nears their pew. His blue eyes fall on Edward’s green ones and a wave a recognition passes over his face.

Edward’s heartbeat picks up incomprehensibly at the tiny smirk he could swear he sees flashing on the other man’s lips as he walks past their pew.

Not long afterward, Mr. Shirley arrives and begins his service and as usual, Edward pays no mind to the sermons and songs, with the only exception that this week his mind isn’t silently engrossed in the enjoyment of poetry either, too preoccupied with a pair of eyes bluer than the sky and a pair of soft, pink lips and thus, Lord Byron long forgotten, the service passes quicker than any other Sunday.

***

A loud bang almost startles him out of his pew and Harry turns around to find the church deserted apart from himself. Apparently he didn’t close the door behind himself when he came in and it’s now moving back and forth with the gusts of air from the morning breeze, banging against the frame.

Harry fishes his phone out of his pocket and sees with a breath of relief that’s it only just gone eight. Thankfully church service times have obviously moved back considerably in the last two centuries, but he should still make a quick escape before the congregation arrives.  
One service should be enough for the day, he chuckles to himself as he exits the church and strolls back towards his house, feeling elevated.

He managed to control the flashback! It didn’t work out exactly as he had planned, but he can’t find it in him to mind. Especially since leaving the house meant he got to see Captain Morland again, in flesh and blood. Butterflies erupt in his stomach at the memory of his strikingly blue eyes, although it makes him feel a bit silly. Like a schoolboy with a crush, except that his crush lived two hundred years ago.

In fact, he’s so excited, that he throws himself head first into work for the rest of the day and getting an early night’s sleep, aiming for another early morning hypnosis session, just to see if it will work again.

He goes for the same setup as yesterday, just to be sure, sitting in front of his single candle at the table, just waiting for something to happen. It’s impossible to tell when exactly the world around him changes. One moment he’s Harry and then he blinks and suddenly the room around him has changed.

Edward sits at the kitchen table, sleepily staring into the candlelight as he tries to finish his tea.

“Come _on_ , we’re going to be late!”, James spurs him on, almost impossibly chipper given the time of day.

“Tell me again why we need to be up at this hour?”

“Firstly, I, for one, am up at this hour every day”, the blonde man smiles. “Besides, it’s a long walk to Market Weighton and we don’t want to miss anything, do we? It’s your first market day here!”

Edward isn’t quite as thrilled by the prospect of walking seven miles on foot only to go to the market, but Bilbury is too small to have one of its own and his uncle needs their horses on the field.

“Are you boys ready?”, Catherine’s voice comes from the hall. She looks lovely as always in her simple white dress and bonnet, a maroon jacket to keep her protected from the cool and misty morning air.

“Will you be coming along?”, James asks and she smiles brightly at him.

“Mama agreed to it!”

“Well then we’ll better be off. Come on, friend”, he pats Edward’s back, urging him to get up.

“At your service, madam”, he jokingly bows to his cousin.

Despite his reservations about the early hour and the distance, it actually turns out to be a very pleasant walk. The sun is starting to warm their faces more and more as they make their way down the lanes and paths fitted into the soft hills of the Yorkshire Wolds.

It takes them about two and a half hours until they reach Market Weighton, but all exertion is forgotten at the sight of the buzzing town on market day.

Market stalls are littered all the way down the high street until it opens up into the market square where most of the hustle and bustle is condensed. Edward has seen lots of different types of markets and fairs and festivities in London, but he’s been stuck in Bilbury for what feels like such a long time, that he’s pleasantly surprised and diverted by the activities of the small town market.

The special attraction today is advertised all over the market; Market Weighton’s very own Yorkshire Giant is visiting his home town together with his group of showmen.

“What is a Yorkshire Giant?”, Edward asks as they push through the crowd that’s gathered around some sort of circus tent.

“What’s a Yorkshire Giant, he says”, James laughs giving Catherine a look. “Only the tallest man that’s ever lived. In England, that is. But maybe everywhere, I’m not actually sure about the specifics, but he _is_ the tallest man in England and he’s from our very own county!”

Harry looks at him and then at his cousin. “It’s just a tall man?” They nod, laughter hiding behind their eyes. “So the attraction is to look at a tall, but otherwise perfectly common man?” They both nod again, breaking out into fits of laughter at Edward’s expression of complete disbelief.

“Well, where is he, then?”, he asks, looking out into the crowd, searching for a man who’s tall figure surely will make him stand out.

“He’s not just out here, obviously”, James tells him. “He’s in that tent over there.”

Edward examines the circus style tent, the simply ridiculously sized crowd in front of its doors and the large sign reading “Yorkshire Giant – one shilling per person”.

“ _A shilling?_ To look at a man?”, Edward gapes at his companions. “Surely you’re not going to spend money on seeing this man? Heavens, if we’d just come here any other day we might happen upon him as he strolls down the street. Would we need to pay him a shilling then, too or close our eyes as a precaution?”

They all erupt into fits of laughter and Edward heart fills with pure joy at companionship, looking between James’ and Catherine’s happy faces. Maybe spending the summer in the country isn’t the worst thing to happen to him, he thinks.

“Well, if you both want to spend your allowances in this foolish manner, you may go ahead, but I refuse to join in on the fun”, he exclaims as soon as they’ve regained their bearings. “I’ll meet you both again later to console your disappointed minds and hearts.”

“Shall we split up, then?”, James asks, looking between the two cousins.

“We will meet you in an hour by the big tree in the middle of the square, cousin”, Catherine proclaims, before she takes James by the arm and positively skips away, pulling the man along. Edward smiles to himself as he watches them disappear in the crowd and wonders what he is to do with himself for an hour.

He wanders along the street idly, looking at the different market stalls advertising a vast array of goods varying from fruits and vegetables, dairy products and poultry to delicate looking cakes and other sweets that he has to pull his eyes away from. Since there’d been no time for breakfast this morning he indulges himself in buying a small fruitcake from one of the stalls.

Enjoying the delicious treat, he walks on further and his interest is eventually caught by a merchant who positioned himself a little further back than most others, in a small passage between two much larger stalls, who appears to be selling books.

His uncle doesn’t keep a library and doesn’t own many books that aren’t about farming and Edward painfully misses the liberties of the city, where, if a search of his father’s library didn’t produce what he’s looking for, he can just go to any bookshop or travelling library to find exactly what he’s looking for. Reading is his favourite past time, and he misses it dearly. He steps closer, browsing through the different volumes, finally deciding on a particularly pretty edition of _Gulliver’s Travels,_ an old favourite, and Fielding’s _Tom Jones._

“Fair choices, sir. That Swift’s a beauty, isn’t it”, the merchant comments and smiles pleasantly.

Happy with his purchase and having spent most of what he can afford in one day, he walks on with half a mind of simply finding a nice place to sit down and read his books until James and Catherine find him again.

That plan is crossed by a jeweller’s stall only a few feet down his path. He’s never had anyone to buy jewellery for, nor has he ever had excessive amounts of money to spare for such an expense, but something about pretty ornaments, necklaces and rings has always drawn him in. He simply can’t help himself, he has to stop and stare for a moment.

His eyes fall upon a beautiful, simple locket, engraved with two birds, small sparrows, facing each other on the front. He can’t really explain it, but he feels an immediate pull towards the piece, reaching out to touch before he can think twice about it. “Looking for a gift to a special young lady, sir?”, the jeweller asks, every bit the industrious salesman.

Edward blushes, more at the implication of him looking for a _lady_ which couldn’t be further from the truth, than at the reality of his intentions. Then again, he supposes it is a “feminine” object, after all and why else should a man be looking to buy such a thing other than as a present for a lady?

He can’t very well tell the man that he’s looking for himself, so he simply smiles and bows his hands in a vague gesture of acknowledgement. “How much for this locket?”, he asks, knowing full well he’s already spent all of his money for today. The jeweller tells him and Edward thanks him politely before walking away shocked and empty handed. It must have been real gold, he thinks, almost laughing at himself, when he suddenly spots a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye.

A tall grey horse stands in one of the alleyways leading away from the square, only a few steps away from Edward, tied to a brass hook. He takes a step closer, slowly, speaking in a soft voice.

“Hello, handsome. I know you, don’t I?” The horse looks back at him with intelligent eyes, letting out a huff of air at his extended hand. “Do my hands still taste of sugar?”, Edward chuckles softly as the horse begins licking his hand in earnest. “That tickles, you know?”

He pets the horse’s lean neck and laughs as it rubs its head on his chest in return. “I’m afraid I don’t have any treats for you -”, and then after a moment of consideration, “What’s your name?” He doesn’t expect an answer of course, but he gets one anyway.

“Navarre”, a voice says behind him and once again he startles and whirls around to find himself face to face with Captain Morland himself. He’s wearing his black coat again today, paired with grey breeches and high riding boots. The Captain steps closer, looking at Edward with an unreadable expression in his eyes. “His name is Navarre.”

“That’s a fitting name”, Edward murmurs, more to the horse than its owner.

“Why do you say that?”, Captain Morland asks, taking yet another step closer until he’s standing right in front of him.

“It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful horse, sir.”

The other man smiles and his eyes seem to sparkle with some sort of joke that only he understands. “I’ll tell you a secret. I simply named him after the place where I got him.”

Edward can’t help but chuckle. “Well, it doesn’t diminish its beauty.”

“No”, the other man smiles. “It’s simple, and I find simplicity seldom diminishes beauty where there is real, true beauty to be found. Don’t you think?”

He’s so close now that Edward would be able to touch him without even extending his arm to its full extend, but he couldn’t even if it weren’t improper, finding himself absolutely stunned into motionlessness by the mesmerizing, breathtaking, intense stare of William Morland’s disarming blue eyes. All he can manage is a small nod, feeling a faint blush creep into his cheeks at their proximity.

“You should have bought that locket”, the Captain says now and his voice is soft. “I think it suits you perfectly.”

“How do you…?”, Edward chokes on the question, unable to form a full sentence.

“I noticed you looking at it.” He shrugs and finally takes a step back, giving Edward the opportunity to breathe again, hoping to slow down his heartbeat.

“But how did you know that I -”, Edward doesn’t even dare finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. His companion is already smiling.

“I wouldn’t know of any female acquaintances of yours in Bilbury that would grant such a gift. You haven’t been courting any of our eligible bachelorettes and this isn’t the sort of present you’d give someone, if you’re not planning to court them… unless you plan to buy it for yourself.”

“How do you know that I’m not planning to court my cousin, Catherine?”, Edward juts out his chin, feeling a little annoyed at being caught and a little charmed by the other man’s attentions to him.

Captain Morland chuckles. “You’re not.” It’s not a question.

He’s right of course, but Edward wonders how he can be so sure.

As if he heard his unspoken question, William Morland takes him by the arm and pulls him closer to the wall that he’s leaning on himself. At first, Edward is unsure what to do, overwhelmed by their bodies being pressed so closely together, but then he sees what the man is trying to show him and lets out a small _oh._

James and Catherine are sitting on a small bench in a corner not far from them, hidden from view of the market, but visible to them in their alleyway. They are talking and laughing at something and nothing would seem too odd about the scene, if it weren’t for the way James is gently cradling Catherine’s hands in his own bigger ones, a testimony to their obvious intimacy. He can see it in their faces now, the way they look at each other while the other is talking and they way they lean into each other when they laugh at a joke.

“Do you see?”, William Morland whispers, his mouth only a few inches away from Edward’s face.

“Yeah”, Edward whispers back, unsure why they are whispering.

“Shall we go over?” A wicked glint has returned to Captain Morland’s eyes.

“We can’t, we would scare them! It wouldn’t be proper, if we –” But before can protest further, he finds himself being pulled out of the alleyway and down the narrow path between the backs of the stalls and the houses on the side of the road, in a way that reminds him strangely of the way Catherine grabbed James by the arm only an hour ago.

“Sir, I really think we shouldn’t –”

“What do we have here, two lovebirds making love in plain sight?”, the Captain proclaims, near enough to be heard now.

Two equally shocked faces immediately whip up to look at him and Edward, who is already opening his mouth, on the brink of apologising profusely, of explaining that he had no choice but to follow the Captain, when suddenly both of their expressions change from horror to relief.  
“It appears that we have been found out by Mr. Morland, my dear”, James turns to Catherine in mock-horror and to Edward’s utter astonishment, all three of them start laughing.

“I’m afraid we have stunned your cousin into silence, Miss Howard”, Captain Morland notices after only a moment. “Shall we leave him in the dark to draw his own conclusions on the matter?”

“Oh, have mercy on the poor fellow, William!”, James cackles and Edward feels like he’s in a dream.

_William?_

“James and I are close friends”, William Morland finally explains. “I know, we’re an unlikely pair. The poor farmhand and the squire’s son, but to be frank, I’ve never cared much about these things.”

“No, neither have I! William here’s alright”, James exclaims. “We’re good friends. He even lets me use his library sometimes.”

“You’re welcome to use my library as well, of course, once you are done with the material you’ve bought today, Mr. Farr”, William tells Edward with a pointed look at the two books in his hand.

“Thank you, sir”, he replies with a sort of shy smile, suddenly unsure how to act towards the man.

“You won’t tell my mother and father, will you?”, Catherine finally speaks, looking to Edward with pleading eyes. “They can’t know about James and I.”

That manages to free him of his muteness. “Of course, I won’t say a word! I would never betray your trust”, he assures her and is relieved to see her smile return to her face.

“I knew you’d be a good friend, Edward! I really am so glad you have come to stay with us.”

He can’t help but preen under her compliment and James’ affirmative nod. When his eyes fall on the Captain, who’s watching him with an undecipherable smile, he immediately feels himself blush, and suddenly the other man’s smile seems to morph into something challenging that Edward doesn’t quite understand.

“Well, we better make our way back home”, James’ voice suddenly cuts through the silence between Edward and William, who are still looking at each other. “It’s getting late. I’ve already made all the purchases Mrs. Howard asked for”, he pats a bag that’s slung over his shoulder. “And we’ve got another long walk ahead of us.”

“It was nice to see you, Captain”, Catherine says with a small curtsey.

“Until next time, Madam”, he replies, a pleasant smile on his lips. “Sir”, he turns the smile to James who bows his head in return.

“ _Mylord_ ”, he finally addresses Edward, his smile having turned wicked once again. Edward can’t help but smile back, remembering their first meeting in the church lane

Their party is more quiet on the way home than they were in the morning.

“I am soon to be engaged”, Catherine finally says, after a very long silence. James stays quiet, looking in another direction, and an undetermined sense of dread starts to build in Edward’s chest. “A Mr. John Mills. He’s Dr. Saunders nephew. We’ve met his uncle after church before, and we saw him once as well. Dr. Saunders is a lawyer and his nephew has studied law as well.” Edward remembers the man, a tall, pale looking gentleman that had been standing stiffly next to his loud, corpulent uncle like a bored looking flagpole. Catherine’s voice sounds grave as she continues. “It’s a very favourable match for me.”

“Oh Catherine, I am so sorry. For both of you. Is there nothing that could be done?”

His cousin shakes her head. “Father and Dr. Saunders are good friends, you know. They made the decision long ago.”

They spend the rest of the walk in complete silence, every one of them occupied with their own thoughts and feelings and when they arrive home, Edward just wants to excuse himself to his room until dinner.

“There’s been a man here, sent by Captain Morland”, his aunt halts him in the hallway, holding a small package. “Says he saw you at the market and that you dropped this.”

Edward sees her curious look and despite his own confusion feigns recognition. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought I’d lost it forever. Thank you, aunt!” And with that, he’s dashing upstairs, taking two steps at a time. As soon as his door has fallen shut behind him, he drops his new books on the bed and feels the small package curiously.

It’s a little pouch and he can sort of make out the shape of something small, delicate on the inside…

He knows what it is, even before the cold metal of the locket touches his palm.


	7. Chapter 7

He’s still staring at the small golden locket in his palm, examining the two birds and wondering, completely awestruck, how it came into his possession, although there’s only one person who could have done it, when he hears a strange sound, almost like a voice but he can’t make out the words.

And then his line of vision seems to blur and suddenly, the pouch as well as the locket he was holding just a moment ago are gone, the bed is replaced by his still untouched box of painting supplies, and the same voice behind him is calling his name.

  
“Harry?” He turns around and realises it’s his sister.

“Gemma?”

And then they start at the exact same time; “What are you doing here?” – “Are you okay?!”

“… wait, what?”, Harry asks, frowning. “How long have you been here?”

“I just got here”, his sister says her face looking almost comically concerned. “Are you alright? You completely ignored me down there, just walked past me looking like you were -”, she stops herself, realisation dawning on her face. “Wait! You were doing it, right? You were in past just then, weren’t you?”

He feels oddly like a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar. “You _totally_ were!” She looks a mixture of scandalized and excited. “Oh my god, I think I need to sit down. Wait, why are you so dirty? And where were you coming from anyway?”

Harry looks down to his muddy shoes and his slightly wet tshirt and then up towards the window. It’s raining outside. Of course. “I… went to the market. With James and Catherine.”

“You – what? Who are James and Catherine?”

“Catherine is my, well, Edward’s cousin. And James is their farmhand. They all live here – lived.”

“Okay”, Gemma says, looking like she might either freak out or start questioning him like a particularly interesting subject of a study. “So this is really happening, huh?”

He feels a little annoyed all of a sudden. “Yes, it’s really happening. Did you think my mental breakdown last week was about nothing?!”

“I’m sorry, no, of course not. It’s just. It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

Harry sighs, already feeling bad for getting angry at her. “Yeah. It _really_ is.”

“I didn’t think about you actually moving around, though. H, that’s really dangerous!”, she looks worried again.

“I know. That’s why I tried to control it”, he says, shrugging. “I guess that didn’t work.”

“You tried to do _what_?”

Harry sighs and tells her everything about his candle experiment and the adventures in the past that ensued. He tells her about James and Catherine and all of his meetings with William Morland, including seeing his portrait at the manor with Zayn. He’s talked himself hoarse by the time he’s done and they are both sitting on his fluffy carpet in the studio.

“Wow”, Gemma breathes out slowly.

“Yeah, so basically I tried to control it, but apparently Edward can open doors.”

“Well, that makes sense. The doors are still all in the same places around this house as they would have been two hundred years ago. But H, what if you walk in front of a car or something!”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t know.”

“Okay, come on”, she gets up, pulling him up as well. “You’re going to change into some dry clothes and then we’re finding this out once and for all.”

“What? What are we finding out?”

“You said you went to some market town?”

“Yeah, Market Weighton, I think it was called. But I don’t even know if that’s a real town any more, Gems.”

She types something on her phone and then shows him the Wikipedia page for Market Weighton. “Apparently it’s mostly famous for someone called William Bradley, also known as Giant Bradley”, she reads out.

“Oh my god, the fucking Yorkshire Giant!”, Harry exclaims which earns him a puzzled look from his sister.

“James and Catherine went to see him but Edward didn’t want to pay one shilling just to see a tall man. Now that I think about it, though, I’m not sure if James and Cat went to see him after all…”, he trails off, imagining all the hidden corners the young couple could have found to have some much needed alone time.

Or alleyways, he thinks suddenly, feeling a blush rise up in his cheeks just at the thought. What did Mrs. Hutcherson say? Somebody must have loved him…

“Alright, get in the shower and then you’re going to tell me all about James and Catherine on our way!”

“Our way where exactly?”

“To Market Weighton, you dumbass”, she says as if it’s obvious.

***

It only takes them about fifteen minutes to drive the same way that took Edward and his companions over two hours to walk. Market Weighton has changed quite a bit with motorized traffic. The market square has been reduced to a much smaller square of cobblestones in the middle of town, surrounded by two lanes of tarred road. There’s still a tree in the middle, but it’s much younger and smaller.

“This is crazy”, he whispers once Gemma parks her car.

“Does it look different?”

He describes everything he can remember and she listens intently with a keen interest, both as his sister and a historian, he assumes. “Okay, and what now?” Harry asks after a while of just sitting in the car. “What are we doing here exactly?”

“We’re going to find out if you were here this morning”, she explains in the kind of voice people use when talking to a petulant child.

And with that, she opens the door. “Wait, wait!”, he holds her back. “Let’s think about this for a moment. Say I was really here earlier, is it a good idea to parade me around here again, asking if I was here? Might come across a bit weird, right?”

Gemma thinks about this for a moment. “Yeah, you’re probably right. You’re just going to have to wait in the car then”, she says with a shit eating grin and gets out before he can protest again.

By the time she’s back with two styrofoam cups filled with coffee, Harry feels like he might be going mad with anticipation.

“ _Well_ ”, she says, making herself comfortable again as he takes a sip of the hot beverage. “You were definitely here.” He’s not really sure what he’s feeling, so he just lets her get on with her report. “I talked to a bunch of people and at least three of them saw you.” He groans and hides his face in his hands. “The old lady at the bakery over there, the man running the newspaper shop and then the owner of the pub. Says she was cleaning her windows when you walked past.”

“Oh god”, Harry groans again. Finally looking up, he feels like he needs to ask, “What was I doing exactly?”

“They all said they just saw you walking around a bit. Mentioned it seemed a little weird since it was apparently pissing it down, but none of them thought too much about it. So you’re fine, relax! Anyway, I told them I was meant to come pick you up, but that I was late, so they probably just think I’m a complete asshole now”, she shrugs with a little giggle.

“This is _not_ funny!”, Harry reprimands her, taking another sip of coffee. She straightens her face and looks at him with her big-sister look.

“It really isn’t, H. Listen, you could have hurt yourself really badly! I shudder to think about the way you must have walked along that road at bloody dawn.”

They sit in silence for a moment. “Please, Harry. I don’t want you to try this again. It’s too dangerous.”

“Well, I can’t really control it that well, can I?”, he snaps.

She shakes her head and starts the car. “At least don’t do it on purpose like this again, okay?” He feels like he can’t promise her anything, so he stays silent.  
“Harry?”, she asks again after a moment. “Please.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll try my best”, he concedes somewhat vaguely.

“And we’re buying a lock for your backdoor! Maybe that’ll keep you inside at least.”

***

“Your sister is ace!”, Niall says with a huge smile in Harry’s direction.

It’s the following Saturday and Harry decided to utilise the bright and sunny day to try his hand at gardening in the dovecote while Niall sits on one of the walls drinking coffee out of one of his big mugs, keeping him company.

“Yeah, she’s great”, Harry agrees, straightening his aching back with a groan and holding up a plant he just unearthed. “Do you think that’s a flower or a weed?”

“Couldn’t tell ya. What’s the opposite of a green thumb? A grey thumb? Anyway, I have that”, Niall says, giving Harry a long look. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Because Louis will definitely _kill_ you if you kill one of his award-winning South-Asian-Somethings.”

Harry leaves the rest of the plants at question alone and moves on to pulling out something that looks like grass.

“I am not afraid of Louis Tomlinson”, he says in a challenging tone.

“Well, you’re digging your own grave”, Niall shrugs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. You haven’t been the victim of one of his tantrums before.”

“Eh, can’t be worse than my sister’s honestly.”

“Whaaat?”, Niall shrieks. “The same lovely, sweet woman who sat at my bar all afternoon telling _hilarious_ stories the other day?”

“Yeah, she looks all innocent, I know. But she can be a real dragon when she’s mad.”

“I refuse to believe you”, Niall says. “Well, at least when Louis gets _really_ angry his accents gets so much stronger, it’s really funny. You usually can’t even really tell what he’s – wait no! Don’t rip that out! That’s some type of daisy, I think.”

“Really?”, Harry looks at the tiny flower with some doubt but obediently refrains from plucking it.

He stands up to his full height, putting both hands on his hips. “I think it looks better, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure”, Niall says, looking down at his phone.

“It really is a beautiful garden”, Harry sighs wistfully, which makes Niall look up finally.

“Built on hundreds of years worth of pigeon shit”, he smiles. “That’s probably some form of super-fertilizer.”

Harry laughs. “God, you’re right.” He looks at the remains of the dovecot. “When do you reckon they stopped using this?”

“Dunno. Sometime in the Victorian period, I’d say. Maybe around the turn of the century? People don’t really eat doves any more, do they?”

Harry brushes his hand along the highest remaining wall. “So I’m guess the doves nested in these little nooks?”, he wonders aloud, sticking his hand in one to see how big it is. His finger brushes against metal. “Huh. There’s something in here?”

“Is it a dove?”, Niall jokes, but he gets up anyway and wanders over to where Harry is standing, his full hand now inside of the nook. “I can’t quite reach it…”

“Are you guys searching for stray doves?”, another voice comes from the direction of the house. Zayn is walking over to them.

“Harry’s found a treasure in the wall”, Niall explains.

“Wait, come over here”, Harry’s got an idea. He pulls his own hand out and waves Zayn over, who sets down the big cardboard box he was carrying on the other wall and walks over to them.

“Your hands are thinner than mine”, Harry tries his most winning smile. Niall cackles and Zayn lets out a groan.

“As long as there’s nothing crawling around in there”, he sighs and sticks his hand into the opening. It only takes him a second to pull out the old, rusty looking metal key.

“A key?!”, Niall says, immediately taking it out of Zayn’s hand.

“Thanks”, Harry smiles at Zayn.

“No problem”, Zayn smiles back. “Actually, I came here to give you -”

“Never mind that”, Niall interrupts them. “What do you reckon this is for?”

Harry shrugs. “No idea.” He’s got a hunch that he’s going to find out at some point. He doesn’t know why, but the key feels significant. Like it’s somehow connected to Edward.

“Hm. That’s so frustrating, though”, Niall whines. “I want to know!”

“How are we supposed to find out?”, Zayn asks him. “We can’t very well walk around all of Bilbury asking people if we could try all of their locks with our key?”

Niall wiggles his eyebrows. “Isn’t that what you do on your weekends off? Asking people to be the _lock_ to your _key_?”

“Ugh, Niall that was terrible”, Harry groans.

“Well, I guess we’ll never find out”, Niall muses. “Do you want this? I can’t keep it, it’s going to drive me nuts.” Harry takes the key from him, putting it safely in the pocket of his jeans. “Alright, where were we?”, he asks absent-mindedly.

“I was going to tell you why I came here, I think”, Zayn offers.

“Right, yes. Shoot!”

“Okay, so I spent the morning in the attic because I was looking for, some documents about – well it’s really not important, honestly. But what _is_ important, or interesting at least, is that I stumbled upon this.”

He moves towards the cardboard box, opening the lid like a magician revealing his best trick.

Harry and Niall take a step closer and look inside.

“Is this one of those Russian doll situations?”, Niall asks, looking at the wooden box that sits inside of the cardboard one.

“No. Look”, Zayn takes out the very old looking box. There are beautiful engravings all over the lid, flowers and what looks like small woodland animals. Zayn points his finger to a delicate engraving above the metal clasp. “C. Howard.”

Harry looks at him in shock. Could this box have belonged to Catherine? But how would Zayn know Edward's cousin…

“Howard!”, Niall exclaims. “That’s the people who lived here in Greywethers, right?”

“Exactly”, Zayn replies, equally as excited by this. “Didn’t you want some history? Well, there you have some history!”

“Thank you!”, Harry’s at a loss for words. It feels like his two worlds are colliding. He can feel his head start to spin.

 _Not now_ , he thinks. _God, please, not now._ The spinning stops. Harry breathes out a sigh of relief and puts on a bright smile.

“Honestly, this is amazing. Do you think I could take a closer look at it and give it back to you in a few days?”

“Give it back? It’s yours. Your house, your box – or something like that”, Zayn laughs.

“Oh wow, thank you so much.”

“But how did this make it to the manor if it belonged to the people who lived here?”, Niall ponders.

“Good question. I have no idea. It was just sitting in my attic”, Zayn shrugs. “But at least it can go back to its rightful place now”, he says, handing it over to Harry, who cradles it in his arms like a baby silently for a moment, completely lost in thought.

“I feel like a proper treasure hunter”, Niall laughs. “First the key, now the box! Indiana Jones, _who_? Guys, I think we’ve earned ourselves a drink!”  
“Isn’t it like, one in the afternoon?”, Zayn frowns.

“It’s Saturday! Besides, time is a social construct anyway. Come on, guys.”

***

What starts as one innocent daytime pint on a Saturday afternoon ends with Harry and Zayn being the last two guests to leave the pub in the middle of the night.

They may have gotten a little carried away.

Poor Liam had to work almost by himself, which gave Harry the chance to see another side of him altogether. Apparently, behind the usual facade of staying sprawled out behind the bar, hides a charming barkeeper persona full of smiles, banter and a surprising amount of energy.  
It made Harry’s head spin, but that might have beer all the alcohol Niall made him drink.

Either way, by the time he gets home, both the box and the key are forgotten and all that’s left to do is fall into bed and hope for a hangover free morning.

Morning comes but unfortunately, so does the dreaded hangover.  
Harry feels like his head might explode any moment and he stumbles into the kitchen almost blindly in search for water and an aspirin. After thankfully finding both, he eventually feels strong enough to try some coffee. He struggles for way too long to find the coffee filters, although in the end they are exactly where they always have been, in the cupboard right above the coffee machine, and once he’s found them he promptly drops one, his hands still feeling a bit shakier than usual.

It’s probably due to his shaking hands, and maybe the fact that he’s trying to keep his eyes as far closed as possible because the light is hurting him, that he doesn’t see the wooden box he quickly deposited on the counter yesterday before going to the pub.

It falls to the floor and the bang of the wood hitting the stone tiles is loud enough to finally startle him fully awake. He just stands there in shock for a moment.

“Shit.”

He bends down, checking to see if anything’s broken. The outside of the box looks fine, thankfully, but he can hear something rattling inside of his as he picks it up.  
Bracing himself for the worst – and mentally preparing how he’s going explain to Zayn that he managed to break the century old gift he got him in less than 24 hours – he opens the lid.

Nothing seems to be broken on first inspection, but there’ seems to be a secret compartment built into it that sprang open by the impact. He moves to close it again, smiling at the thought of his cousin Catherine hiding something in there two hundred years ago, when he realises that there actually is something inside of it.

His heart starts to race with excitement as he slips his fingers into the small opening and touches cold metal. It feels like a deja-vu. Except this time, it’s not a key that comes out of the compartment.

It’s a locket engraved with two sparrows hanging from a thin, delicate gold chain.

 _Edward’s_ locket. The one that William must have bought for him at the market.

Harry stares at the locket in his shaky hand for a full minute, not believing what he’s seeing. It seems unlikely, impossible even. And yet somehow, here he is, holding the same locket Edward first saw on that market two hundred years ago. Everything about it seems so familiar to him that there’s no doubt it’s the same locket.

It seems almost fantastical, something out of a fairytale or a really corny movie, because surely this type of coincidence doesn’t happen in real life?

Unless the universe, fate or some other form of higher power, is really trying to tell him something, he thinks. But what could it be?

A loud, demanding knock on the door startles him out his thoughts and he quickly throws the necklace back into the box, before stepping towards the door.

Louis Tomlinson is leaning against the door frame, wearing a stormy expression. “You weeded the garden”, he says blankly. “Right?”

Surely he was just about to launch into one of those temperamental tantrums Niall warned him about, when a sudden, uncommon occurrence cuts him off before he can start – for the second time in the span of two weeks, Harry starts crying in front of another person. This time isn’t nearly as dramatic as his breakdown at his sister’s house in Sheffield, but his chin definitely starts to wobble significantly and a thin layer of tears clouds his vision for a moment.

Louis immediately stops looking grim, his entire demeanour changing and his eyes looking at Harry with concern.  
The quick and drastic change Harry smile despite himself. “I’m so sorry”, he sniffles. “This doesn’t usually happen.” He wipes the tears from his eyes with an impatient gesture. “It’s just that… it’s the…”, he realises he can’t think of a single excuse for his frenzied state. “Either way, it’s true that I _tried_ weeding but as I said, I’m not very good with gardening and I don’t even know why I did it... I’m so sorry. How bad is it?”

Louis simply looks down at a limp, withered flower in his hand and seems to consider it for a moment before he crosses both of his hands behind his back and drops the flower to the ground, looking Harry straight in the eye. “It’s not too bad”, he lies.

“You know, you’re a very charming liar”, Harry says with a wet chuckle and Louis laughs, tilting his head to the side. His eyes make the clear morning sky pale in comparison.

Obviously relieved to see Harry regaining a little bit of his balance, he smiles softly at him. “Listen, I’ll make you a deal. If you’re so hell-bent on helping me with the garden, why don’t you come outside for a moment and I’ll show you the difference between a weed and a flower.”

“I thought you hated it when other people mess with your garden.”

“That’s just an ugly rumour”, Louis grins. “Come on, it won’t take long.”

Stepping out of the house, Harry bends down to pick up the discarded flower. "This wasn’t a South-Asian-Something, was it?”, he asks carefully.

Louis’ eyes seem to twinkle. “It wasn’t”, he assures him with conviction. “If it had been, I’d have definitely told you off for messing with my garden, tears be damned!”

As it turns out, spending half an hour digging around in the dirt next to Louis, who gives him a beginner’s lesson in weeding in his soft, gentle voice, is exactly what Harry needed to cure his emotional – and alcohol – hangover. There’s something about feeling the cold, dry soil underneath his fingertips that makes him feel at ease and strangely protected.

Louis is actually a very gifted teacher.

He names every single plant in the garden for Harry with diligent care and endless patience, he explains what needs to be done and shows him how to do it in a way that Harry actually understands and after they are done he might not feel like an expert yet, but he feels sure that he’s capable of weeding the garden without killing it in the process.

“You’re going to figure it out”, Louis assures him. “It just takes a bit of practice, that’s all.”

“And you’re sure, you’re fine with me practising here in your garden?”

Louis frowns. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No, I do. It’s just… well, Niall and Zayn made it sound like I was putting myself in mortal danger by even so much as looking at your garden, so…”

“They don’t know the real me”, Louis jokes. “Besides, it’s going to be good for you, getting out of the house. Fresh air is healthy!”  
He looks at pulls out his phone from his back pocket, checking the time. “I’ve got to go. Time to get back to my sheep.”

Harry has no idea what time it is. He gets back up, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans. “Okay, well…”, they look at each other for a moment. “Thank you. For, you know, everything. Not yelling at me and teaching me all this stuff and being so understanding and _nice_ all the time. Seriously, thank you, Louis.”

Louis shrugs nonchalantly, but a smile starts to spread on his face. “No problem. I’ll see you around, Harold.”

And then he’s walking away, across the field towards the manor. Harry just stands there, watching him go for a moment, breathing in the still fresh morning air. All thoughts of his hangover are forgotten and he feels happy and light all of the sudden, like he’s floating.

Instinctively, he looks towards the oak tree, almost expecting to see a familiar figure there, but it stands deserted.

A tiny sparrow lands right by his feet, picking at the ground furiously and Harry watches him for a moment, before finally turning back towards his house.


	8. Chapter 8

The next few days go by in a blur. Harry throws himself back into his work with new levels of enthusiasm and dedication that are unusual even for his most productive periods. He does nothing but work, eat and sleep for about a week and suddenly it’s almost June and he’s got the first draft of his first chapter finished and ready for the colouring process.

He’s also sent several outlines and exposés to two small, up-and-coming publishing houses where he knows some people from Uni, and surprisingly, he heard back from both of them, which meant that he spent the few hours of his week that weren’t spent drawing or writing, on the phone, talking business. That’s usually his least favourite part of any job, but this time it’s exhilarating, knowing that people are interested in his project.

He knows that his dedication to his work stems partly from trying to put off other things, but he feigns ignorance to himself. For some odd reason, the knowledge that he can go back in time by choice made him apprehensive of actually doing so. Maybe it was Gemma’s stern face that appeared in front of his inner eye every time he thought about it, that stopped him.

But secretly he spends all week when he’s drawing or writing or making phone calls waiting, anxiously hoping for something to just sort of _happen_ in a nice, spontaneous way, so he couldn’t be made responsible for the possible consequences.

As usual, though, whenever one nervously awaits a certain possible event, it seems to take its time and nothing happens all week. At least it was a productive week, he thinks as he looks over his finished draft with a sense of accomplishment on Sunday.

When Niall calls him the next day, the first thing he notices is Harry’s hoarse sounding voice. “What have you been up to, I haven’t seen you in a week, mate. Are you sick? You sound like you have a cold!”

Harry clears his throat. “Eh, I sort of worked all week. I guess I just didn’t use my voice much”, he admits with a slight tinge of shame.

“You don’t even talk to yourself when you’re alone?”, Niall asks curiously.

“I mean, in my head. But not out loud.”

“Weirdo”, Niall deadpans. “Either way, you’re going to have to take this afternoon off from work.”

“Oh? What have I got planned, then?”

“Tea at the manor!”

“With Zayn?”, Harry asks, already calculating how quickly he can finish the sketch he’s working on so he still has enough time for a much needed shower before he leaves the house.

“No, Zayn’s on a business trip somewhere, I forgot where. The invitation is from my aunt. She’s been chatting my ear off all week trying to get me and you up for a tea, but today’s the first day I could take off from work. Liam _did_ actually have a cold, you see.”

So the friendly witch of Bilbury is inviting Harry for tea. What an exciting prospect!

“You can come by the pub and pick me up at three”, Niall proposes. “Oh, and if I were you I’d skip lunch. Aunt Freda’s afternoon teas could feed a hard-working family of five and she’ll expect us to finish every last bit of it!”

***

By three in the afternoon, Harry is glad he followed Niall’s advice of not eating lunch at the sight of Mrs. Hutcherson’s sumptuous spread of delicious looking goods. He’s surprised the table isn’t bending under the weight of all the cakes, sandwiches, canapés, scones and pastries.

“You don’t have to finish everything, dear”, Mrs. Hutcherson assures him with a motherly smile, “no matter what my nephew told you.”

They are in the manor’s kitchen – not the grand room that Harry saw on his tour with Zayn, but a much smaller, cosy looking room in Zayn’s private wing with terracotta-coloured floor tiles and herbs and other plants on every windowsill. It’s evident that Alfreda Hutcherson spends a lot of time here, because the room seems to have absorbed some of her warm, inviting energy.

Harry is absolutely fascinated with the small woman in her dark blue dress and floral patterned apron and her friendly green eyes. She moves around the kitchen with a sort of natural grace and even though her blonde hair is clearly greying, Harry couldn’t have guessed her age. Just like her nephew she’s easy to make conversation with, intelligent, cheery and with a sharp wit that shines through from time to time. Harry feels strangely comforted by her presence.

“I have to say”, she says, handing Niall the pastry platter for the third time, “it’s nice to have some company in the house. I always feel a little lost when Zayn is gone and I have nobody to take care of.”

“You fed Louis all week!”, Niall says with his mouth full of pastry. “He told me.”

“Well, he works very hard. He needs to eat properly and we all know he’s not a great chef.”

“No, he’s not. Do you remember the time he tried to -”, Niall stops in the middle of his sentence, interrupted by his phone angrily buzzing in his pocket. “Oops, sorry. It’s Liam, I better take this.” He wipes his face with one hand and gets up to take the call outside.

After only a short moment, he comes back into the room, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I’m going to have to run down to the pub. Apparently one of the beer taps is is broken and the lads are slowly sobering up, so I better take care of this quickly.”

“Don’t worry, honey. Take your time”, his aunt says with a smile. He looks around the table quickly. “Leave some cake for me, alright!”

Harry laughs, looking at the obscene amount of food that’s still left, even after Niall already ate more than Harry had previously thought humanly possible. “I think we might!”

The door closes behind Niall and suddenly Mrs. Hutcherson’s expression changes as she looks at him pensively over the rim of her cup. “You look tired, dear”, she says unexpectedly, setting the cup down with a small clank. “Was it all a bit much for you?”

Harry looks at her, unsure what to say or do. He hesitates, not knowing exactly where to start or how much he can or wants to share, questions whirring inside of his head like a carousel.

“You’re wondering whether I know and if so, how much I know and why I know it”, she says calmly. “But you’re afraid I’m going to think you’re mad if you start talking about it first. So let me save you the trouble. Yes, I know. I know what’s been happening to you ever since you moved here. I’ve been a little worried about you, to be honest.”

Harry leans back in his chair, stunned, while she smiles at him, awaiting his reply. “Well”, he finally says. “They told me you’re the resident witch.”

Mrs. Hutcherson laughs but she doesn’t contradict him. Instead she refills his teacup with another knowing smile. “I assume, you have questions.”

“Thousands of them”, Harry confesses. “But honestly, I’m not even sure if I want to hear all the answers.”

She nods decidedly. “That’s good. You’ve started a journey, Harry. Nobody can show you the way, but yourself. You have to figure out your path alone.”

“But, I’m sure _you_ could -”

“I could tell you some things, yes. But I’m afraid my interference might hurt you more than it could help.”

“Oh”, Harry can’t help but sounding a little disappointed.

“No need to look so glum”, Mrs. Hutcherson smiles at him. “You’ve already gotten quite far without my help and you’re doing just fine. You’re beginning to get to know Edward and his life and you’ve managed to adapt to a reality that lots of others would struggle to accept. And most importantly, you’re beginning to understand that you have more control in the matter than you originally thought, or am I wrong?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, you’re right.”

“See”, she spreads her hands in a meaningful gesture. “Looks like you’re doing just fine on your own, my dear. You have to be patient. You’ll get all the answers without my help, but it takes time.”

“Last week, Zayn brought me something”, Harry absent-mindedly plays with his napkin. “This wooden box.”

“I know.”

“Well, it says C. Howard, so I was wondering…”

“You were wondering if it was your cousin Catherine’s? Well, I suppose it won’t hurt if I tell you this much. It did belong to Catherine once, yes.”

“But how did it end up here, at the manor?”, Harry asks but Mrs. Hutcherson is already shaking her head.

“That you will have to find out on your own”, she says. “And you will. Do you want another ginger snap, my dear?”

She offers him the tin with all of her delicious biscuits and Harry takes one without really noticing it. It’s a peculiar feeling, to be sitting here in this seemingly normal kitchen on a Monday afternoon and talking about reincarnation with a witch. It should have been strange, surreal even, like talking about knitting at a funeral. But here they are, drinking their tea and eating biscuits like two normal people whose lives aren’t perturbed by some sort of supernatural force, acting as if Mrs. Hutcherson can’t read every single one of his thoughts like an open book.

It looks like she’s reading him right now, judging by the look on her face. “I’m sorry if that disturbs you”, she says quietly. “The fact that I know more than you. But I am an old woman, you see. I’ve seen many years come and go and I’ve watched time dwindle away and if I haven’t learned anything else, than that fate works after her own schedule.”

She leans back in her chair and looks at Harry with philosophical serenity.

“It’s circular, you know, life. You start your journey and choose your path and once you’ve reached the end you realise that you’re right where you started. That’s what you’re doing with Edward’s life right now. Once you’ve gone all the way, once you’ve closed the circle, then and only then will you be able to understand its purpose.”

“And you’re absolutely sure that I’m… him. I mean that Edward Farr and I are… the same person?”

“Oh yes”, her smart eyes seem to go soft. “I recognised you immediately.”

“Recognised me?”

“I’ve seen you before, you know. Not as the one you are now, but it was still you.”

“Of course”, Harry breathes. “The green gentleman at Greywethers.”

“And the ghost in the blue room”, Mrs. Hutcherson adds. “Edward’s spirit visited both of these places for a long time.”

“But I thought the ghost in the blue room is still there? I felt it, when I was in there. How can a soul be in two places at once?”

“What you felt wasn’t a ghost. It’s the aura of something that happened there many years ago. He left something of himself in that room, you know. Like an imprint, or a shadow.”

Harry stays silent for a moment, deep in thought. “I see a man sometimes. A man on a grey horse.”

“William.” Mrs. Hutcherson nods. “He’s also a kind of shadow when you see him like this. Under the oak tree just outside of your property line, right? He spent a lot of time there. No wonder something of him stayed back. But you know”, she gives him an estimating look, “sometimes it’s also just a projection of your own mind. If you stare at the sun for too long, you begin seeing it everywhere as well.”

If William Morland isn’t a ghost, Harry thinks, then that means that he, just like himself, could be wandering the streets of Bilbury again. Maybe even live in the manor again…? It would make sense. After all, Edward is back at Greywethers as well. And didn’t Gemma tell him about soulmates who find each other even in different lives? If people really tend to surround themselves with others they already know, then that could mean that they are all connected. Niall, Zayn, Harry and Louis. And maybe even…

“Do I know you?”, he suddenly asks out loud. “From before, I mean. Were you someone I knew before?”

She smiles again, but it seems a little sad this time and her eyes seem to be looking right through him, into a far distance. “We were all someone before, at some point.” She looks out of the window, deep in thought.

“Oh! That should be Niall”, she perks up suddenly, although Harry doesn’t hear or see anyone when he turns toward the window as well. “I should better get the kettle going again.”

She gets up and busies herself by the stove and Harry is barely surprised when Niall opens the door a few minutes later, mere seconds after the kettle boiled.

***

That night, Harry has a dream about his mum. They are sitting together in the garden of his childhood home in Holmes Chapel, Harry playing on the grass while his mother is laying in the sun, reading a book. A beautiful butterfly lands on Harry’s hand and he watches in awe the way its brightly coloured wings lazily move before it takes off again. Harry watches it as long as he can and turns around to tell his mum about it, but when he turns his head, she’s gone.  
He calls for her, running through every room of the empty house, but she’s gone without a trace and the rooms turn into an endless labyrinth that he can’t find his way out of, desperately calling for his mother –

That’s when he wakes up in a cold sweat, the only sound in the room his laboured breathing.

He feels like a child again, lonely and confused and all he wants is to check on his mum to make sure she’s still there and okay. It was only a dream, he tells himself, trying to calm down.

He turns on the light by his bed and his eyes fall on the old alarm clock, telling him it’s not even five in the morning. Falling back onto his pillow, he covers his eyes with both hands, trying to steady his breathing. He’s _not_ a child any more. He can deal with a nightmare by himself.

After a while, he decides there’s no use in trying to go back to sleep, so he figures he might as well get up and brew some coffee. He’s listening to the splattering noises of the coffee machine, trying to think of anything else but he can’t seem to stop thinking about the dream and the creeping discomfort that took a hold of him.

He gives up finally, pulling out his phone with an unsteady hand and finds his mother’s contact. It’s just around 9pm in California and his mother picks up on the third ring.

“Harry! Well, this is a surprise! Are you alright?”

“Hi mum!”, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “I’m alright. Just... calling to say hello!”

“At five in the morning?”, his mother sounds unconvinced.

“I couldn’t sleep”, Harry sighs, feeling silly. “I… had a bad dream. I was looking for you but I couldn’t find you anywhere, and…”, he stops with a shaky breath, suddenly feeling that he might cry.

“Oh, darling”, his mother’s voice goes soft. “That sounds terrible. But I’m fine, honey. I’m right here and I’m always only a call away, so you don’t need to worry, alright?”

He can hear some rustling on her part and pictures her getting more comfortable in her chair. “So how do you like your new home? Gemma tells me good things about your house and your new friends. She says you’ve got a wonderful kitchen! Oh, that actually reminds me…”

And then his mother launches into a rather one sided conversation about this and that, mostly about her travels in America, her visits with their relatives and strange American customs, periodically interrupting herself to ask his stepdad something or other and Harry can hear his mumbled replies in the distance.

It’s her own, smart way of distracting and comforting him even from half the world away and Harry has to admit that it’s working. He got really lucky, he thinks to himself when they end the call an hour later, filled with love for his mum.

He stretches his back, looking around the room idly. His mother’s trick worked wonders against his anxiety, but he’s also not the least bit tired any more.

He might as well get properly dressed and start the day early then, he thinks, moving back to his bedroom. While getting dressed, his eyes fall on his open jewellery box where he sees, on top of his favourite pearl necklace, Edward’s locket seemingly staring right at him. He picks it up, weighing it in his palm for a moment, before he impulsively decides to put it on, just to try it out.

It’s beautiful and it fits him perfectly, just long enough to rest in the centre of his chest. Like it was made for him. A strange feeling settles in his stomach at the sight of it touching his skin in the mirror. Like he half expects his features to morph into Edward’s in front of his eyes.

He decides to keep the locket on. It is _his_ after all.

He looks at himself in the mirror again, gently touching his fingers to the locket on his chest and wondering what other secrets his past holds for him. And then he thinks of Mrs. Hutcherson’s soft, knowing face and the way she smiled at him across the table yesterday. He needs to close the circle in order to understand, she’d said.  
Maybe it’s time to finally take the next step on his journey.

***

He sets everything up just like the last two times, sitting with a single candle at the kitchen table. The practice seems to pay off, though, because it doesn’t take as long this time.

“Edward!”, his aunt Margaret’s voice cuts through his deep thoughts and his head snaps up. “Careful, you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep dreaming like this”, his aunt smiles.

“Did we wake you too early, cousin?”, Catherine smiles at him from across the table and he can’t help but smile back at her pretty face.

“I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all”, he explains and resumes his work of churning butter. He can’t very well admit that his lack of attention is due to recurring thoughts about a certain blue eyed gentleman.

“It’s unusually warm already”, Catherine takes a break from kneading dough for a moment to fan herself with both of her hands. “No wonder we would all be a little drowsy.”

“When you’re done here, you’re free to take the day off”, Aunt Margaret’s smile is understanding. “Both of you.”

“Thank you!” Edward is a little out of breath, but he smiles at his cousin as he wipes some sweat off of his forehead. “Whatever will we do with the whole day?”

“I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I’m going to spend the day in the shade, reading”, Catherine smiles back at him. That sounds well enough, Edward thinks, but he’s feeling a little restless lately.

“I think I’m going to go on a walk”, he decides. “Won’t you join me?”

“Exercise? In this heat?” Catherine stops her practised hand movements to look at him in disbelief. “No thank you!”

“As you wish”, Edward shrugs and resumes his work, eager to be done and out of the house.

It’s a beautiful day. Hot and sunny and the air smells like summer. A little unsure where to go, he just walks straight across the field, aiming for the big oak tree that’s looming over the landscape on a small hill. He’s got a novel in his coat pocket that he’s been wanting to read, so he might just settle in the shade under the tree.

He’s never walked in this direction before so he’s surprised to find a small stream on the other side of the hill. Already feeling hot from the short walk in the sun, he takes off his coat, his shoes and stockings, placing them all under the tree to come back to, and walks towards the stream barefoot. He dips his toes in the cold water, wincing at the icy temperature.

After a moment, it’s incredibly refreshing, though, and he wades through the water, following the stream into the shade of a small grove.

It’s much cooler here and almost eerily quiet and he stands there for a moment, feeling as if he just stepped into a different world.

A flock of birds that he didn’t notice before suddenly startle at something and they rise with a collective flutter of wings that sounds loud in the silence of the woods. The sound scares Harry for a moment and, his foot resting on a very slippery rock, he loses his balance and falls into the water with a very ungentlemanly curse.

Sitting in the freezing water, his heart pounding in his ears, he whips around to see what rose the birds in the first place. At first he can’t make anything out in the dim light, but then he hears breaking sounds in the brushwood and a moment later he spots a single rider on a grey horse nonchalantly making his way over to where he’s sitting in the water, completely soaked from splashing of his fall.

Captain William Morland steadies his horse at the side of the stream and smiles down at Edward, who quickly struggles to stand up again. “Good morning, Mr. Farr”, he smirks and bows his head in greeting. “I see you’ve decided to go for a swim on this fine day.”

Edward has finally found his footing again and with as much dignity as possible, given the circumstances and the fact that his white shirt is practically see-through and his woollen breeches are clinging to his legs and hips in a way that _must_ be a little too revealing, he juts out his chin and scowls at the Captain.

“I needed some refreshment.”

“I am impressed to see that you count swimming to your, undoubtedly many, accomplishments”, he can’t overhear the mocking tone, nor the quiet chuckle that follows the words.

Looking the other man straight in the eyes, he says: “I happen to have many talents, _sir._ ”

“Oh, I am sure of it.” A thoughtful expression replaces the laughter in his eyes and he gets off his horse, taking a step towards Edward, who is still standing in the middle of the stream. “Let me help you out, you’ll catch a cold if you stay in there much longer.”

William extends his hand in a gesture of gallantry and before he can think twice about it, Edward takes it and finds himself being pulled ashore with surprising strength.  
“Thank you, Captain”, Edward breathes and lets go of the other man’s hand, who, without stepping out of their close proximity, says: “You don’t need to call me that. I don’t like the title very much.”

He shakes his head and then, looking back into Edward’s eyes with a sudden intensity, adds, “Why don’t you just call me William when we are alone.”

“I can’t, sir”, Edward replies. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

William lets out a surprised laugh. “Proper! Who cares about proper?” He spreads both his arms wide and spins in a circle like a child enjoying a game. “Look around you! Do the trees care about what’s _proper_? Does the water? The earth you’re standing on?” Lowering his arms, he takes a step closer again and his blue eyes seem to sparkle with a challenge. “Personally, I don’t care for other people’s notions about propriety an ounce more than I care for the title given to me by the Royal Navy.”

Edward isn’t sure what to reply to that.

“You don’t approve of my conduct, I take it?”, William says, his eyes searching Edward’s face, and then he seems to find something there, that doesn’t agree with him. “You think I’m mad. And maybe I am. Maybe I’m mad! But by god I am sick of society or my family deciding for me how I’m supposed to live my life _properly.”_

He says this with so much feeling, so much apparent distress and despair that Edward can’t take it any longer. “I don’t think you’re mad, _William_.” His voice comes out softer than he intended and he puts emphasis on the other man’s name. It seems to almost knock the air out of William’s lungs.

They look at each other for a long moment with an intensity that sends tingles down Edward’s spine, and then, slowly, a smile starts to spread on William’s face.

“We should get you into the sun”, he says and looks him up and down, slowly.. “You appear to be a little wet.”

Edward can feel himself blush, but he can also feel the freezing cold of his wet clothes that are still clinging to his body, so he agrees and they walk silently until they reach a clearing where the sun is streaming in through the treetops. William ties Navarre to a low hanging branch and flops down onto the ground, grinning up at him. “Come on, sit down”, he pats the ground next to him. “It’s comfortable.”

Edward sits down on the soft patch of moss, feeling acutely aware of the way their legs are only a few inches apart and the way his wet clothes still cling to him obscenely. He stretches out on his back, giving the sun a broader target, and closes his eyes. They enjoy the warm rays of sunshine silently for a moment, before William speaks again.

“It must be a hard change for you, moving to the quiet of the country after living in London all your life”, he says, and when Edward opens his eyes and turns his head he finds a pair of blue eyes already looking at him.

“It was at first. But I’ve found that the country has its merits, as well”, he says with a brave, suggestive grin in William’s direction. The other man raises his eyebrows.

“What merits?”

“I quite enjoy the peace and quiet”, Edward says, his grin widening. “The fresh air is nice as well. I never new how bad the air is in London until I came to the country.” He gets up unto his elbows and his wet shirt opens a little at the movement.

William’s playful expression changes and he extends his hand suddenly, as if to touch Edward’s chest. He inhales sharply, realising what William saw and feeling a little caught. Their eyes meet and for a moment everything seems frozen.

“You’re wearing the locket”, William says.

“I am.”

“I knew it would suit you.” His hand hovers over Edward’s chest a moment longer until he extends one finger to brush past the metal of the locket. It’s barely even a touch, but Edward shudders at the brief contact. Trying to regain his composure, he clears his throat. “I don’t know if I can keep it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too much. I remember the prize the merchant told me.”

“It’s a present”, William simply says with an air of finality.

Edward remembers what William told him at the market. _T_ _his isn’t the sort of present you’d give someone, if you’re not planning to court them._ He blushes at the implication, wondering if this is William’s way of giving him a hint or just his own wishful thinking.

“Well, I suppose it would be _improper_ to refuse a gift”, he teases and revels in the way it makes the other man roll his eyes and smile fondly. “How about you, then? Do you enjoy life in the country?”, he asks after a moment to change the subject.

William scoffs. “I may agree with your assessment of the benefits of fresh air, but I find the country is often polluted by close-mindedness and backwardness instead.”

“It must be hard, after having travelled so far with the Navy”, Edward muses. It earns him a stern look.

“I’m not speaking of wars and invasions. They always come with death and suffering. I want to be where there’s _life_ and progress. What I yearn for is the freedom to be who I am. Who I _truly_ am.”

“And who are you?”, Edward asks.

An uncertain expression washes over William’s face. “I don’t know. I know that I am not _Captain_ William Morland of Oakwell Manor, though.”

“If you don’t mind me asking”, Edward hesitates, scared of overstepping, “why did you join the Navy? You seem to despise it.”

William lets out a humourless laugh. “You’ve seen my father, the Admiral, surely. He thinks the Navy the only honourable path for a man. The only path, honestly. Every gentleman who’s not a soldier isn’t a true man, he says.”

“So he… forced you?”

“He advised me with intent, yes”, William jokes, but his voice sounds cold. “Thanks to him, I fought in France and came back victorious. I should be _proud_ , according to him.” He scoffs, his fingers fiddling with a pine cone he picked up from the ground. Edward isn’t sure what to reply, but after only a moment, William lifts his head and speaks again.

“I can’t help but wish for another life, one where I don’t have to fight. One where I can love, instead.” His eyes capture Edward’s and it seems as if he’s trying to communicate something more. “A life where I could love, freely. That’s true freedom.”

Something about the intense way he says these words makes the air seem tight and hot around Edward and he feels himself blush again, his heartbeat picking up.

“Do you think a world like this could ever exist? Where everybody could love freely?”, he asks, trying to calm his beating heart.

“But Mr. Farr, how improper!”, William jokes, feigning shock. “What sort of ludicrous suggestion. What would become of the world if people didn’t marry for money, or influence, or prudence, but for _love_! How happy would be the Catherines and the James’ of the world, if they could run off together with no fear of _impropriety_. Think of all the happy marriages, a world like this could produce. Outrageous!”

They are both laughing at his dramatics, but there’s an air of sadness between them.

“All the men who love women they can’t marry because society tells them they can’t, freed from their suffering. And all the men, who _don’t_ love women. What a world that would be, indeed.” William ends almost on a whisper, staring at Edward’s eyes intently, gauging his reaction.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be considered a proper world”, Edward says, never breaking their eye contact. “But it would surely be a better one.”

And then, after some consideration, he adds in a softer voice: “I should like to live in a world like this one day.” His green eyes search for William’s blue ones and when they find them, a quiet kind of understanding passes between them.

Behind them, Navarre lets out a loud huff of air and whips his tail, obviously trying to rid himself of an annoying fly, and the moment is broken. They both chuckle and look away, returning to their sunbathing poses.

“So, how do you know James?”, Edward can’t help but ask after a moment.

The question has been burning in the back of his mind ever since their encounter at the market, but he wasn’t sure how to approach the matter with James without exposing himself to possible questions about his own relationship with William Morland.

“Oh, he hasn’t told you? We’ve been friends for years. His father was my father’s steward, we grew up together. And when I saw how madly he fell in love with your dear cousin, I may have taken the liberty to mention him to your uncle, who was looking for help.” He grins wickedly at Edward’s obvious surprise.

“You… and he… you knew?” He’s not sure what to feel, shock, delight and outrage all fighting for dominance. “You sent him to my uncle on purpose?”

“I felt they both needed a nudge. So I thought I’d play cupid.”

“But she is to marry another man! Wouldn’t it have been better to keep them separated, if they can’t have each other after all?”

“Should we prevent a beautiful thing like true love from blossoming only because the odds are against it, according to you then?”, William asks him, his voice heavy with meaning, but he shakes his head, not waiting for a reply. “Besides. Your cousin will not marry another, I promise you.”

“How can you say that? How can you be so sure?”

William looks at him for a moment and then gets to his feet, holding out a hand again to help him up. They both brush off remnants of moss and dirt from their clothing when he finally speaks again. “I am sure, because I will make sure of it”, he simply says with a resolute look on his face.

“And now, Mr. Farr, I will leave you again. My father is expecting me, I’m afraid.” William gets up in a swift, elegant motion and walks over to Navarre. He’s already back in the saddle again, when Edward catches up to him.

“Edward”, he says plainly. “Call me Edward.”

“Edward”, William repeats and briefly touches a finger to Edward’s mouth, like the shadow of a kiss. But as quickly as it happened, it’s gone again and before Edward can fully comprehend it, William has already turned his horse, disappearing into the shadow of the trees.

***

Harry is standing alone on a piece of grass with only a little bit of shrubbery remaining in memory of the trees that once stood here. It’s much colder than it was a moment ago and he’s suddenly shivering, realising that his clothes are still soaked.

Turning around in a somewhat frantic circle, he tries to regain some sort of orientation, but he can’t make out anything that looks familiar to him. It didn’t seem far to him in the moment, but Edward must have travelled quite a long distance, because he can’t even see his house from where he’s standing. Unsure which direction to walk in, he turns again and notices a white cottage with a thatched roof and flowers in front of every window. Right beside it is an orchard of apple trees, stretching the entire length of a low stone wall of a spacious sheep enclosure.

Harry knows whose house this is even before Louis Tomlinson rounds its corner with a wheelbarrow.

Relief washes over him at the sight and he immediately starts walking towards it. Louis stopped in front of a shed and seems to have picked up some sort of tool, doing something that Harry can’t make out. He can see Louis’ back muscles stretch underneath his shirt and his usually brown hair looks almost blonde in the early morning sun.

His original plan is to simply walk up to Louis to ask for a cup of coffee, but when he still hasn’t noticed Harry once he’s jumped over the stone wall, a wicked plan takes shape in his mind.  
This is his one chance to pay Louis back for all those times that he scared Harry by sneaking up on him. He might never get another opportunity like this. So he slows down his steps and slowly, carefully creeps closer to the other man, careful to make no sound.

From this distance Harry can see that he’s apparently tightening the screws of one of his planting shovels, blueish cigarette smoke curls up in the air over his head. Harry is so close now, one more step and he could reach out and touch his shoulder and his hand is already suspended in the air, when Louis lifts his head and takes the cigarette from his mouth.

“Good morning, Harry.” At least he can’t keep a straight face for long, breaking out into a smile as he takes another drag, straightens his back and turns around to look at him.

“ _How_ did you know?”, Harry asks, dumbfounded.

Louis puts both of his hands on his lower back and stretches, his smile growing wider and wider with every passing second. “I saw you jump the fence back there”, he finally explains. “Was starting to wonder why it took you so bloody long to walk over here. Besides”, he adds, pointing to the clear outlines of their shadows on the wall of the shed, “you should never sneak up to someone with the sun in your back.”

“Well, I guess better luck next time”, Harry shrugs in defeat.

“You took a bath”, Louis observes, looking Harry up and down.

Harry runs a hand through his hair awkwardly and smiles. “I fell into the stream”, he admits sheepishly. “But I think I’m almost dry again.”

Louis pointedly looks at his bare feet and his shivering hands and shakes his head.“You’ll catch a cold. Come on, let’s get you inside and into some dry clothes.”

“Only if it’s not a bother to you…”, Harry starts but Louis cuts him off.

“It’s not a bother”, he assures him. “On the contrary, I’m happy to have some company for breakfast.”

“Jesus, it’s only breakfast time?”

Louis gives him a funny look. “What did you think? When did you leave the house?” Harry gapes at him for a second, trying to come up with some sort of excuse. He can’t very well tell Louis that he left the house in the 19 th  century and only made it back to the 21  st  century in that shrubbery right by his property. In the end, he doesn’t need a reply. Louis just smiles at him, his eyes sparkling in the morning sun, and leads him towards the house with a gentle hand on his bicep.

“I’m going to clean up”, Louis lifts his dirty hands, “but you can already go ahead and get out of those wet clothes. My bedroom is at the end of the hall.”

Louis’ room looks simple, yet inviting, with its big windows that let in the light of the morning sun and its neutral colours. It suits him, Harry thinks, as he picks out a plain white tshirt that smells like detergent and _Louis_ and a pair of simple grey joggers. The pants are a little too short around his ankles, but he doesn’t mind. They’re soft and comfortable.

Louis gives him a once over as he steps into the kitchen, still pulling down his shirt, and grins. “Looking sharp, Harold.”

“Thanks, I made an effort”, Harry jokes. Suddenly, Louis smile seems to freeze as he’s staring at something on Harry’s chest. For a second, it looks as if he’s about to reach out to touch whatever he’s seeing, but maybe that’s just Harry’s mind playing tricks on him, because only a second later, Louis’ smile has returned as if nothing happened.

“That’s a beautiful necklace”, he says easily and Harry looks down at his own chest in confusion.

“Oh”, he says softly. He’s still wearing the locket, which now sits on top of Louis’ white shirt in the centre of his chest. “Uh, thank you”, Harry breathes out, trying to hide his surprise.

“Family heirloom?”, Louis’ eyes seem to sparkle with humour, but it doesn’t feel as if he’s making fun of Harry at all.

“Something like that”, he replies.

“Well, it suits you, Harold.” Louis sounds sincere. “I see the my joggers fit you perfectly, too.”

“Oh didn’t you know? It’s in fashion. Ankles are the new trend this season”, Harry jokes, proudly presenting his naked ankles like a model at a photo shoot. Louis laughs and rolls his eyes, turning back to the coffee machine.

The cottage mostly consists of one big room, that’s equally divided into kitchen and living room with just one hallway that Harry’s currently standing in leading to the bedroom and a bathroom.

It’s simple and practical and you could shoot an arrow through the front and out of the back door without knocking over anything, that’s how little unnecessary clutter exists in Louis’ space. It’s so unlike Harry and he likes it immediately.

“Where can I put these?”, he holds up his lump of soggy clothes.

“I’ve got a dryer in the shed. It’s a little old, but still does what it’s supposed to if you show it who’s the boss. You’ll have to use brute force.”

Harry understands what he means once he finds the old, rusty looking device, getting it to run only after four failed attempts with a hefty kick.

“Alright?”, Louis asks when Harry re-enters the kitchen, turning back to the sizzling pan on his stove when Harry nods. Harry sits down at the table, where he finds a steaming cup of coffee already waiting for him, and watches Louis casually cook for two as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him.

“I hope that’s still okay”, he points at Harry’s cup. “I made it two hours ago, just heated it up. Do you like eggs on toast?”

Harry takes an apprehensive sip. “It tastes great. And yes, of course. Sounds great!”

“It was sort of a rhetorical question anyway, to be honest”, Louis shrugs. “It’s the only thing I know how to make.”

He fills up two plates and carries them over to the table, sitting down across from Harry.

“So”, he starts up after a few bits. “What brings you all the way out here so early in the morning?”

Harry finishes chewing and takes another sip of coffee. “I was just curious to know where that stream leads.”

“Well, now you know.”

“Now I know”, Harry grins, shovelling more eggs into his mouth.

“You walked almost three miles if you walked along the stream, you know? It’s barely a mile if you take the street. Even less going across the fields.”

“Wait, so Bilbury is right on the other side of this hill?”

“Yes, of course”, Louis looks amused. “Did you think you got lost?”

“Don’t laugh at me”, Harry laughs. “It’s all happened before. I have absolutely no sense of direction.”

“Sounds like my mum. She takes a tour through half of Yorkshire every time she goes somewhere outside of Doncaster, I think.”

“You’re from Doncaster?”, Harry asks. “Are your parents farmers as well?”

“God, no”, Louis shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee to wash down a bite of toast. “It’s just my mum anyway. She couldn’t tell one end of a shovel from the other one, I tell ya. She’s got no green thumb at all, but she’s great with people. She’s a nurse. Dad’s a lawyer, but he’s not really in my life much.”

“So how did you get into farming then?”

“I went to Cambridge and studied Classic Literature, toying with the idea to become a teacher, but never really pursuing it. I’ve never been an inside type of person, always loved being outside in the dirt somewhere. So after a while I decided, why not? I found this property when I was staying with Zayn two years ago and just decided to go for it.”

“You just spontaneously decided to become a farmer?”, Harry laughs.

“Not unlike someone else I know impulse buying a house in the country…”, Louis says, his voice trailing off as he gives Harry a pointed look.  
“Yeah okay, you got me there.”

Harry looks around the room again, seeing traces of Louis’ other life peeking through here and there. The art prints in the living room, the huge bookcase filled with old, leather-bound books, an exquisite looking antique chest of drawers in one corner… The conjunction of those different sides of Louis, the farmer and the scholar, are fascinating.

“I lived in France for a while when I worked for Morland”, Louis gestures around the room following Harry’s looks. “Travelled a lot while I was there. That’s where I got most of the more fancy stuff.”

“You worked for Morland Electronics?”

“Yeah, after Uni. I was in Marketing. Hated it, though. Almost went mad sitting in all of these offices and conference rooms. So I immediately jumped on the opportunity when Zayn asked me to help him restore some of the manor gardens. Always had a knack for gardening and I wanted out of my office job. It was truly a win-win.”

“And you met Zayn in Cambridge?”

“Yes. Dark times”, he grins into his coffee. “My grades went down rapidly after I met him. But we had a great time together, there. It’s a miracle they didn’t kick us out to be honest.”

Harry grins at the mental image of a younger Zayn and Louis, wreaking havoc at their university. He leans back in his chair comfortably, stretching his arms over his head and feeling right at home. Something about Louis seems to always calm him down and he feels this strange, almost alluring comfort around him.

Louis pushes his own empty plate away and leans back in his chair as well, looking just as comfortable and at ease as Harry feels. “So I heard you went for tea at the manor yesterday?”

“It was more like a five course meal”, Harry grins. “Niall’s aunt is a phenomenal chef!”

“Don’t I know it. She’s been feeding me all week”, Louis pats his stomach.

“She said you don’t feed yourself well enough for how hard you work.”

“Did she?”, Louis raises his brows. “Well, maybe she’s got a point. Too many microwave meals, probably. And I’ve really got a sweet spot for cheap fast food. Thank god Bilbury’s way too small to have a McDonald’s or I’d probably be eating nothing else.”

Harry laughs. “I think you’re _a lot_ better off with Mrs. Hutcherson’s meals.”

“You know what, I agree”, Louis joins in his laughter and gets up to take their plates to the kitchen, where he puts them into the sink unceremoniously and turns around again with a huge smile on his face.

“Do you want to see the farm?”

“I’d love to”, Harry says earnestly.  
“You shouldn’t go barefoot, though”, Louis warns him. “I think I probably have some wellies lying around here somewhere that are way too big for me.”

Harry waits for him by the door as Louis dives into the other, smaller shed around the corner of the house and after only a minute or so he comes back with a pair of wellington boots.

“These should fit you just fine. I accidentally got the wrong size once and was too lazy to bring them back, so… I knew they’d come in handy one day.”  
“As if they were made for me”, Harry grins happily once they’re on, wiggling his toes and his eyebrows in unison, which makes Louis laugh.

***

It takes them almost an hour to round Louis’ entire estate. He introduces Harry to his sheep, shows him around his orchard and his enormous vegetable garden. “How can you grow so many vegetables and not know how to cook?”, Harry asks, slightly amused.

“I sell them all to the Niall and the local farmer’s market.”

“Wait, so I’ve been eating _your_ vegetables all this time? I’m shocked you didn’t tell me”, Harry jokes in mock-affront.

“It was enough for me to see you enjoy them”, Louis shrugs. “Has anybody ever told you, you eat like a cat, by the way?” The both erupt into laughter, and Harry isn’t even sure what they are laughing about, but he revels in the warm feeling that’s spreading in his chest.

When they make it back to the cottage there’s a faint smell of something burning in the air that tells them Harry’s clothes are dry again.

“I can take you back to the village in the car if you want to”, Louis offers when Harry is done changing back into his own clothes.

“I don’t want to cause any more trouble -”, Harry begins, but Louis cuts him off again.

“Stop assuming that you’re bothering me, Harold. You aren’t! I have to run to the pub real quick anyway, so I can just drop you off at home afterwards. You can borrow the boots, by the way”, he says with a look at Harry’s naked feet.

It’s obvious that Louis rarely takes his old, beaten up car anywhere because it takes him about three tries to start it and when the motor’s finally going, it doesn’t sound very reliable. Thankfully, it’s only a short drive into the village, just like he’d told Harry earlier and before long, Louis parks the car in the small parking lot behind the Black Bull. Niall is outside cleaning the windows and he greets them with a huge grin as they get out of the car.

“Your sister’s here”, he informs Harry instead of a proper greeting.

“My sister? Here?” Harry and Louis share a confused look.

“Yeah, apparently she wanted to stop by at your house but you weren’t there. Came by to ask where you were. She’s inside”, Niall smiles cheerfully.

“That would be your sister Gemma, the historian, right?”, Louis inquires as they make their way to the door.

“Right! I forgot you didn’t meet her last time. You were in York or something, right?”, Niall bumps his side with an elbow. “Oh, you’ll like her. She’s great!”

They find Gemma in the smaller of the two rooms, sitting on the couch, immersed into a book. “Good news. I found your brother”, Niall proclaims needlessly, walking in after Harry. “Nice shoes, H”, she deadpans after taking one look at him.

“Thanks, I got them from Louis”, Harry points to the man next to him.

“Oh, right, you’re the man with the green thumb I hear”, Gemma gets up from the couch to greet Louis properly. “I’m Gemma.”

“Nice to meet you, Gemma. I’m Louis”, Louis shakes her hand.

“So, who’s up for a drink?” Everybody turns to look at Niall.

“Isn’t it like, barely ten?”, Louis asks, finding his voice first.

Niall beams. “That means I don’t have to open for another two hours. Come on, it’s on the house.”

“You know what, why not!”, Gemma agrees easily and follows Niall out of the room. Harry and Louis share another glance.

“Well, if your sister says it’s okay, we better follow suit”, Louis shrugs and

They spend the next two hours at the bar watching the level of wine steadily sink in the bottle between them. Harry is happy to see that his sister and Louis hit it off immediately. Their dry senses of humour and shared appreciation for witty comebacks makes for an entertaining duo and soon they are breezing through topic after topic, sometimes agreeing enthusiastically, other times debating each other passionately, but either way looking like they are thoroughly enjoying themselves.

***

“I like Louis”, Gemma confides in Harry as they are walking, or in Harry’s case, staggering back to his house.

“I’m glad”, Harry replies, his thoughts otherwise occupied. “Do you want to stay for dinner? I don’t know if you should be driving like this.”

His sister gives him a condescending glance. “ _I_ only had half a glass. Unlike others.”

“Are you trying to imply that I’m drunk?”, Harry tries for a dignified look.

“Absolutely. Drunk as a skunk. And before noon, as well. I’m appalled.”

“Well, try to get past it”, Harry waves her off, then throws his arm over her shoulders. “It’s nice to have you here, though. I don’t think you ever visited me this much when I lived in Manchester.”

“Today is only a slight detour. I’m on my way to a conference in York. I thought I’d just pop by to say hello.”

Harry looks at her face closely. “Mum sent you, didn’t she?”

“Correct.”

“You can tell her that I’m just fine.”

“You can’t hold it against her that she worries. That’s what mums do”, his sister says. “And by the way, I was also worried when you weren’t here this morning. You didn’t even lock the door when you left!”

“I couldn’t sleep after the call with mum, so I went for a walk, that’s all.”

“Without locking the door?”

“I wasn’t planning on going far”, Harry lies. “Besides, Louis works in the garden sometimes so I leave the door open in case he needs a glass of water or the toilet.”

“Well, that’s country life I guess”, Gemma shrugs, still looking unconvinced. “You know, if I were a more suspicious person, I’d think that you were on one of your trips down memory lane, if you know what I mean.”

If she asks him directly, he’ll have to tell her, Harry thinks. They stay quiet for a moment and then Gemma sighs.  
“Whatever”, she shrugs. “I don’t think I want to know.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence.


	9. Chapter 9

June comes with beautiful, sunshine-filled days and long, warm evenings that smell like wildflowers and strawberries and every once in a while, summer rain. The dovecote garden’s summer bloom begins timidly, as columbines and irises make way for sunflowers, bellflowers and a colourful array of hollyhocks, aconite and thimble.

The ever-changing, transitional beauty of his garden fascinates Harry and soon he’s borrowing book after book from Louis to find out more about all the flowers, herbs and weeds that grow on his property. All the colours inspire him and make their way into the illustrations he’s working on and soon he’s several chapters into writing and sketching his book and it feels like hasn’t even been doing any work.

All of the research is really interesting and often he finds himself staying up late just to read a little longer about the works of a particular artist or yet another art-historical interpretation of some particular homo-erotic subtext in a specific painting. He comes to terms with one of the potential publishers surprisingly quickly, mainly because Britt, one of the founders, went to Uni with him. They get along great and Britt and her team seem really impressed by his drafts. He’s on professional cloud nine.

Despite being this productive, Harry’s social life also blooms in June. He spends most of his evenings at the pub with Niall, Liam and Zayn – although the latter still has to jet off to some business trip or other every once in a while – where they play darts or sit outside in the courtyard, enjoying the mild summer evenings with a few beers or some of Niall’s excellent homemade lemonade. They are only missing Louis from their little gang, but the others assure Harry that summer is always the busiest time at the farm. Apparently it’s a common occurrence for them to not see him for days on end sometimes.

With his days almost equally divided between his work and his friends, there’s almost no possibilities for experimental visits to Harry’s past. Every time he feels the familiar dizziness start to come up, he pushes it down again. There will be enough time for that in the future, he tells himself. He just wants to enjoy the summer and all of its joys.

And yet every time he looks at the locket that he hung from a hook by the mirror over his dresser, he feels a stab of guilt.

“I haven’t forgotten”, he tells both the face in the mirror and the two sparrows who seem to watch him with accusing eyes. “I just want to have some fun, that’s all.”

It feels a bit like he’s on one long, extended summer holiday.

His mum and stepdad finally return from the States towards the end of the month and Harry and Gemma drive to London together to welcome them at Heathrow.

His parents are eager to see Harry’s house and explore Bilbury, so they all take the trip together the next day. They are delighted at the sight of the picturesque village and Harry’s chest swells with pride when they both compliment him on his decision to move here.  
Thankfully, Gemma cuts the visit short by offering to drive them home to Holmes Chapel, as soon as his mother starts talking about new curtains and wallpapers, and Harry sends her a grateful look when they say goodbye. He promises his mother a longer visit very soon, but mentions that he’s buried in work right now, and waves them goodbye with a guilty feeling in his stomach. The thing is, he’s enjoying his new life here so much, he doesn’t have a keen interest in leaving Bilbury for any extended time period any time soon.

***

A few days after his parents’ visit, Harry and Zayn are walking to the manor together after enjoying a voluptuous lunch at the pub with Liam. They were discussing Harry’s book, one thing leading to the other and now Harry is walking besides Zayn on the narrow path behind the church to take a look at Zayn’s collection of Art History books.

They are both quiet, tired and full from their opulent lunch, but ever so often Harry steals a glance at Zayn’s side profile. Harry hadn’t thought it possible when they first met, but over the course of the last two months he’s spent with him and the other guys, he’s gotten used to Zayn’s disarming good looks.

And yet, during the last few weeks, he’s been catching himself staring at him with a newfound curiosity. Considering everything that he found out about the past, as well as Gemma’s theories of reincarnation, he can’t help but wonder, can’t stop himself from searching for possible similarities between him and William.

He can’t help but feel a little disappointed at the blatant lack thereof. Nothing in Zayn’s face reminds him of his ancestor’s features. Objectively, the brown eyes with the longest, lushest lashes he’s ever seen on another man and their gentle expression are beautiful, of course, almost irresistibly so.

But there’s something missing in them, not only the startling blue that he remembers so well, but even more the distinctive expression of quiet amusement mixed with a distinct strength, a determined resolution that seems to always simmer under the surface of William’s eyes.

Logically Zayn seems to be the most likely candidate, given the similarities in their situation and the fact that they are related. But whenever he searches Zayn’s eyes for that familiarity, anything beyond their friendship that might give him a hint of them having met in another life, he comes up empty handed and a little frustrated.

“God, that shepherd’s pie _really_ didn’t agree with me”, Zayn groans as they’re making their way over his lawn towards the side entrance of the manor. “Don’t tell Niall, though. He’s very sensitive about his cooking.”

“Ugh, I feel you”, Harry rubs his own, slightly aching, stomach. “I’m beginning to feel like I should have ordered some sort of herbal tea with it instead of the soda. The carbonation is really not helping.”

“Come on”, Zayn says miserably. “Let’s see what we can find in Mrs. Hutcherson’s kitchen of wonders. Surely she’s got something that can save us.”

What they find, to their surprise, is Louis who’s leisurely rocking on his kitchen chair, the very picture of utter contentment. “Ugh, what was that?”, Zayn groans, pointing to the suspiciously empty plate in front of his friend.

“Oh that?”, Louis grins. “Just a quick vegetable fry up with mash and gravy. Oh, and some blueberry crumble with homemade ice cream for dessert.” Zayn and Harry both groan in pain.

“How do you always manage that?”, Zayn asks and Louis grin widens. “That sounds amazing.”

“I worked hard all morning instead of going to the pub like some other people”, his eyes seem to sparkle with friendly ridicule.

It suddenly hits Harry that he’s really missed Louis’ easygoing humour and calming presence in their group. They got used to not seeing much of him these days, but his absence is palpable.

“So, what are you guys up to?”, Louis lowers his chair to the ground with a crashing sound and smiles up at them curiously.

“We had lunch at the pub and I think Niall poisoned us with his shepherd’s pie”, Zayn whines and Louis chuckles.

“I thinks it’s the fact that he puts so much cheese in it”, Louis agrees. “Somebody needs to tell that man that there’s such a thing as _too much_ melted cheese but I think it would break his heart. So why did you drag Harry all the way up here if you’re both impaired?”

“He’s showing me his book collection”, Harry replies, distracted by the dangerous growling sound in his stomach.

He doesn’t even notice Louis’ raised brows until Zayn laughs.

“Nothing like that, get your mind out of the gutter, Lou! I’ve got some books about Renaissance Art in the library that Harry wants to borrow for his book research”, he clarifies. “What are you doing here, by the way?”

“I thought I’d take a short break from my farm to take care of your rose garden.”

“You know we’ve got a gardener for that, right? You don’t have to take care of my gardens on top of all your other work”, Zayn assures him with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“And as soon as that gardener of yours learns to do his job correctly, I’ll stop”, Louis looks completely unmoved. “Actually, I’ve got a new idea for the rose garden that I need your opinion on, if you could spare a moment? It won’t take long.”

Zayn looks to Harry, waiting for his approving nod before he sighs.

“I guess some activity might help my bowel movements. Where’s Freda by the way?”

“She left to clean the windows in the drawing room about half an hour ago”, Louis informs him.

“Do you think you could go find her?”, Zayn asks Harry. “And try to persuade her to make us one of her miracle potions for our digestion, will you?”

“In the public part of the house, you mean?”, Harry asks, twisting his fingers anxiously.

“It’ll be fine. The drawing room is not hard to find, it’s right next to the library and there won’t be another tour until three, so you should be in the clear.”

With reassuring smiles the two men leave Harry alone in the kitchen. Their murmured conversation and loud laughter quickly grows fainter with the distance, and when they’re gone, Harry braces himself for his lone adventure through the manor’s many rooms and corridors.

***

The house is quiet, just like Zayn assured him, and the air is much cooler within its old walls than outside in the sun, which is a welcome relief. Feeling a little bit like a kid in a museum after hours, Harry tiptoes into the great entrance hall, trying to remember the way to the drawing room. He doesn’t really expect to find Mrs. Hutcherson still in there, but he reckons it’s worth a try either way.

Slightly confused by the many hallways and doors, he finds himself opening the wrong one, stumbling into the library instead of the drawing room. It’s even more beautiful than he remembers somehow, with the gentle glow of the early afternoon sun shining through the windows and illuminating sparkling speckles of dust in the air. Harry’s always loved the smell of books, especially the distinctive smell of well-kept old books and he knows he’s on a mission, but he can’t resist the pull of all the pages seemingly sitting in wait of a curious pair of eyes to bring them to life.

He feels only a little bit guilty, as he takes a step closer to one of the shelves, unable to resist the temptation. That’s when his eyes fall on the painting in the corner. How could he have forgotten about the portrait? He suddenly feels William Morland’s radiant eyes on him, so distinctly and intensely, as if he were actually in the room in flesh and blood, rather than paint and paper.

Resolutely, Harry turns his attention back to the books, his back to the picture, but he can’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder every few seconds.

It only takes him a few minutes to cave in and turn around and take a few tentative steps closer. Standing directly in front of the portrait, his hands folded behind his back as if he’s strolling through an art gallery, he admires the talent of the artist, the skilful way they managed to capture the small, almost hidden, smile playing on those lips and the fierce look of William’s disarmingly blue eyes…

He wonders what became of this man that left no trace in the family history after the age of twenty-two. _Playboy,_ is what Zayn called him when Harry first saw the picture. Not necessarily the nicest of nicknames. He wonders if the real William lived up to the nickname and tries to ignore the stab of jealousy at the thought. It’s ridiculous, he knows, to be jealous of something that might not even have happened, and even if it did – it was two hundred years ago.

Harry had tried everything he could think of in search of Captain William Morland’s life. He’d googled his name, searched through online genealogy sites for hours to no avail and even talked the pastor into looking him up in the church registry. They only found his birthday, December 24 th  1891, but no further information and no note of his death in the registry.

Completely lost in his thoughts, he extends his hand to follow the line of William’s jaw with a feather-light touch.

It’s a mistake.

As soon as his curious finger disconnects from the canvas, the room around him starts shaking, a familiar sensation of dizziness threatening to take over. The contours of the painting in front of him seem to blur, as if the painter smudged them with a dirty brush.

Harry takes a hasty step back, squeezing his eyes shut. _Not now,_ he pleads silently. _Can’t you see that I can’t right now? I don’t have enough time._

As if answering his plea, the dizziness subsides, the wavering, trembling walls solidify and seem perfectly peaceful and innocent when Harry dares open his eyes again. His breath his coming in short, nervous huffs that make his lungs hurt. He quickly turns away from the portrait and stumbles towards the door and into the hallway, leading him back into the entrance hall.

The front door is ajar, letting in a single streak of sunlight and a gust of fresh air and Harry steers his wavering steps towards the light like a moth flying into a flame.

He never makes it to the door. After only a few steps, the feeling catches up to him again with a vengeance, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. He feels like he’s going to pass out and leans against the nearest wall, his chest heaving with laboured breaths. He can’t force it down, not this time, and he feels like he’s being hurled into a dark void.

It takes longer this time for the walls and ground to stop shaking beneath him and the storm to ease off, but when he opens his eyes again, the entrance hall shakes one last time, before it all goes quiet.

***

He suddenly hears the sound of advancing footsteps from the corridor behind him and turns around in anxious anticipation, feeling a little sheepish for wandering around the house unsupervised.

William Morland stops abruptly, his eyes widen in picture perfect surprise.

It is completely inappropriate of course, for Edward to just turn up like this, out of the blue and without a _real_ invitation. But his aunt and uncle have gone for a visit to York today and it just so happens that William’s father, Admiral Morland, left Bilbury two days ago to attend to some business in London.

This kind of freedom, being left entirely unattended, might never occur again. He couldn’t let the opportunity pass him by.

“Edward”, William’s eyes sparkle with joy and all of Edward’s uncertainty fall off of him at the sight. He takes a step closer and bows his head slightly.

“William”, he says, watching the smile on the other man’s face widen at the familiar address.

“Welcome to Oakwell, Mr. Farr”, William says with an overstated gesture. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

He looks more relaxed somehow, well-rested and fresh faced, and instead of his usual black riding coat, he’s wearing a blue coat that accentuates the colour of his eyes. Edward feels almost out of place, wearing the his favourite yet simple green coat as usual, but he pushes the feelings aside and matches William’s exaggerated, almost mocking tone. “I merely come following your invitation of making use of your library, sir.”

“Of course”, William smiles. “The library.”

“Yes, sir. I happen to be very fond of reading.”

“I’m sure you are”, there’s the familiar glint in William’s eyes that makes Edward’s heart rate pick up immediately. “Follow me, then.”

His host leads the way back down the corridor he just appeared from and opens the door to the most beautiful library Edward has ever stepped foot into.

“ _Oh._ This is a beautiful room”, his voice is almost a whisper.

“My grandfather was very fond of books. He assembled quite the handsome collection during his lifetime. Sadly, no considerable additions have been made in recent years.” William’s voice turns bitter. “My father is not a great reader, I’m afraid.”

Edward isn’t sure if he’s allowed to ask further, but he’s curious. “What about your mother?”

“She passed away when I was just a boy. She was a sweet lady. You would have liked her, I think.”

“I’m sorry”, Edward says a bit lamely. He wants to reach out in a comforting touch, but he’s not exactly sure if that’s allowed, so he smiles instead, trying to convey his empathy.

“Come”, William seems to shake himself out of his thoughts. “Let’s not dwell on sadness on such a beautiful day! It’s brimming with opportunity, don’t you think?”

He points to the sunlight streaming in from the window, but Edward gets the sense that he means more than just the weather. He nods in agreement, not brave enough to say anything else.

“May I take a look?” he asks instead, impatiently regarding all the treasured books in their shelves.

“They are all yours”, William smiles and takes a step back as if to give Edward more freedom to move around as he pleases.

Edward can’t help but take a few hasty, curious steps closer, moving past all the books about botany and science until he reaches a section of poetry, where he remains for a moment, picking up different volumes in interest. He’s trying not to pay attention to William, but he can feel his eyes on him, and after a moment, he can feel the warmth of another body close to his.

Similar to the way he pinned him to the wall in that alleyway in Market Weighton, William crowds into his space now, only enough to make his presence cloud Edward’s senses, while still keeping a respectful distance between them. Edward can feel his heartbeat pick up from their proximity and he can’t focus on the book in his hand any longer.

“You enjoy poetry, then?”, William asks softly, looking at the collection of poems by Robert Burns in Edward’s hand. “My love is like a red, red rose that sprung in June”, he recites, his breath tickling Edward’s neck and he turns around to face him.

William’s eyes bore into his own as he delivers the last lines of the famous poem from memory. “I will love thee still, my dear, while the sands of life shall run. And fare thee well, my only love. And fare thee well awhile! And I will come again, my love, though it were ten thousand mile.”

They stare at each other for a moment, neither of them moving or breaking the eye contact.

“What a lovesick fool”, William chuckles and breaks the spell. He puts the book back where it belongs and clears his throat. “Are you fond of novels as well?”  
Edward nods, not trusting his voice again just yet. “I have something for you then”, William grins, dashing to one of the reading nooks by the windows at the other side of the room. “I think you might enjoy this one.”

He hands him a book and Edward curiously opens it to read the title. _Emma – A Novel in three Volumes_ _by the author of Pride and Prejudice._ “It’s a woman’s novel, of course. Written by one as well, I believe, but I found it very enjoyable.” William seems almost embarrassed by his choice of literature, seemingly eager to attract Edward’s interest.

“Oh, I don’t mind reading women’s literature”, he smiles. “As a matter of fact, I thoroughly enjoyed Pride and Prejudice.” He thinks for a moment and then gathers enough courage to add, with an unwavering look into the other man’s eyes, “After all, a man who wears a lady’s jewellery as his own should not seem very afraid of reading a novel written by one, should he?” A smile spreads over William’s face.

“You’re quite extraordinary, Edward. Do you know that?”

For a moment, Edward almost feels as if he might take a step forward and kiss him, but nothing happens and the moment passes. “Dine with me tonight”, William breaks their silence. Edward considers this for a second. It’s a tempting prospect, of course, but –

“I can’t.”

William raises his eyebrows. “Don’t say it’s _improper_. I thought we’d come to an understanding on the subject.”

Edward can’t help but smile, remembering the day in the woods. “No, it’s not about propriety. I simply promised James and Catherine to be home by dinner time.”

“I’m sure your presence won’t be _greatly_ missed with those two”, William says suggestively. “They’ll do just fine without you. I dare say they might even prefer your absence, if you know what I mean!”

Edward laughs, slightly scandalized. “You could be right. But I can’t dine here with you – alone!”

“Why not? We are grown men, aren’t we? Where would be the difference between my father dining with Mr. Shirley and us dining together?”

“I would like to think there’s a great difference”, Edward laughs, wiggling his eyebrows and eventually William joins in, despite himself.

“Dear god, I should hope so!”, he agrees. “But you know what I mean. From an outsider’s view it will look the same! What’s the harm in two friends having dinner together?”

“Two _unlikely_ friends, that is”, Edward reminds him. “It might not raise suspicion, you’re right, but it will certainly gain attention. The heir of Oakwell Manor, closely acquainted with his tenant’s nephew – friends even! Let one person find out and we will have the whole village’s eyes on us every time we meet. And what if a servant mentions our informality to your father?”

William shakes his head, but Edward can see that he agrees with him, against his own will. Soon, his face clears up again and the well known twinkle of mischief appears in his eyes.

“A dance, then.”

Edward lets out a surprised laugh. “What?”

“It’s not a joke!”

“William… there is no music.”

“I can hum.” And with that, William takes him by the waist and starts twirling him around in a ridiculous manner while humming a melody that sounds a bit like something Edward has heard before. It’s silly and foolish, but it makes butterflies erupt in Edward’s stomach and laughter bubble out of his mouth. The laughter dies in his throat as soon he finds himself pressed against William’s front after one last twirl, their breathing ragged from laughter and excitement, chests heaving in synchrony.

Holding him in this position, their bodies pressed together, William starts swaying them softly, following no real steps. His humming has turned soft, a slower melody filled with longing and his breath is tickling Edward’s cheek, his mouth if he was brave enough to turn his head a little.

He’s not sure when they stopped dancing or when William’s humming subsided, or when exactly William’s hand had travelled from his hip to his neck and now his face, tracing his features with a delicate touch. All he’s sure of is the pair of blue eyes that are looking into his own green ones, and the raw tenderness he finds in them.

“My love is like a red rose that sprung in June”, William whispers again, his thumb stroking soft circles on Edward’s cheek. And then he bends his head a little and kisses him.

It’s unlike anything Edward has ever felt before, unlike anything he could have imagined. He’s so shocked by the intensity of his feelings that he doesn’t know what to do at first, simply letting himself be kissed, William’s silky lips moving against his. The touch of his mouth on his own feels so sweet, so indescribably, painfully wonderful and when it stops, he immediately feels robbed.

Something in his expression makes William laugh, a small, soft laugh that has his eyes emit sparks of fond endearment.“I hope I haven’t offended you”, he asks with some humour, but his eyes seem to search Edward’s face for an honest answer.

“Only by stopping”, Edward smiles and he wants to remember the way William’s laugh sounds in the quiet of the room for the rest of his life.

“God help me, you’re beautiful”, William says earnestly once his laughter has died. Edward wants to reply, he wants to tell him that _he’s_ the beautiful one, agonizingly so, but before he can speak, William’s lips are back on his. The kiss is hungrier this time and when Edward feels William’s tongue touch his own, he can’t help but let out a sigh of pleasure that seems to only spur the other man on more.

It happens suddenly, out of nowhere. Right when his back hits the front of the bookshelf and he opens his eyes at the impact, his vision shakes for a moment and then clears again, quickly this time.

***

He’s alone in the room. His back is pressed to one of the bookshelves close to the window. He can see the small figures of Zayn and Louis in the garden, Zayn is clearly laughing at something Louis just said. He watches them for a short moment until his eyes start filling up with tears and his vision blurs.

No matter how hard he tries to blink them away, more and more tears keep spilling out of his silly eyes. Silly tears running down his cheeks in hot streams. It’s truly silly to cry, he thinks and shakes his head. After all, it happened so long ago. And yet he can’t seem to stop.

The door opens and he quickly tries to compose himself, but it’s only Mrs. Hutcherson and he lets out a shaky sigh of relief.

She wraps him up in her motherly arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and carefully leads him back into the kitchen, all the while talking to him in a soothing voice. He doesn’t really have it in him to listen to her words, but hearing her voice is comforting enough and by the time she sits him down on one of the kitchen chairs the stream of tears has weakened to a slight sniffle.

“There there”, she says, stroking some stray curls out of his face in a motherly gesture. “What you need now is a good strong cup of tea." Harry gets the strong feeling that ‘a good strong cup of tea’ would be Alfreda Hutcherson’s first reaction to many a crisis. She puts the kettle on and looks at him with compassionate eyes. “That must have been quite the shock for you, I suppose.”

“He kissed me”, Harry simply says, as if that explains everything.

“Yes, my dear. I know he did. But now, wipe away those tears, love.”, she hands him a tissue. “The boys will be back inside any minute.”

He wipes his face and dries his eyes, trying really hard to regain his composure. “I couldn’t suppress it”, he tells her. “I could always hold it back before, but this time I couldn’t suppress it.”

“Well”, her green eyes are looking at him wisely, “then I think you learned an important lesson, didn’t you? You cannot cheat fate, Harry. If you don’t look for the lessons of the past, they are going to find you on their own, whether you want to or not.”

He doesn’t get a chance to ask her what that means, because the door opens and Zayn and Louis enter, all laughter and sunshine. Harry clears his throat and discreetly tries to wipe away one last tear without them noticing.

“Ah, good! I see you two found each other”, Zayn exclaims happily and saunters over to the stove, where Mrs. Hutcherson is busying herself with an array of herbs. Harry looks up and catches Louis’ looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face that almost immediately makes way for a sympathetic smile.

“You alright?”, he asks in a low voice, perceptive as always. Harry nods, not wanting to alert Zayn that anything is wrong, and his assuring smile is almost genuine.

Mrs. Hutcherson walks over to the table and puts down two cups filled with fresh herbal tea, handing another one to Zayn. “There you go boys, drink up. That’ll sort out your stomach aches or any other ailments”, she adds with a tiny wink in Harry’s direction.

“You’re an angel, Freda”, Zayn blows her a kiss.

“Why do I get one?”, Louis asks with furrowed brows. “I don’t have any ailments.”

“Really?” Mrs. Hutcherson asks with a knowing smile. “I could think of at least three, dear. Drink up, or I’ll tell the other two everything about them.”

Zayn almost spits out his tea with laughter as Louis hurries to lift his cup to his lips. “And they say you’re a _good_ witch”, he mutters, but his eyes are filled with laughter.

Harry takes a sip of the soothing mixture, feeling a pleasant warmth spread in his body that’s calming his nerves.

It takes him a moment to realise that he didn’t even mention their stomach aches to Mrs. Hutcherson.

***

Harry spends the next few days mulling Mrs. Hutcherson’s words over in his head. He has no idea, of course, what his “lessons of the past” could be. All he does know is that the past – his past – can’t be ignored and that his travels there would only get more painful the longer he waits, both physically and emotionally.

Besides, after his last visit, he’s not even sure if he wants to wait any longer. It’s ridiculous, probably, the way nothing in his own lifetime has ever made him feel the way the memory of a man that’s long dead did.

As unsettling as that thought sounds to him, it seems to positively frighten Gemma when he hints at his feelings to her. He can practically hear her quiet disapproval through the phone.

“It’s too dangerous”, is her verdict.

“Honestly, I think the decision is out of my hands at this point, Gems”, he replies somewhat ruthlessly. “It’s going to happen either way, whether I want to, or not.”

“I thought you can control it? You said you found a way to suppress it.”

“It doesn’t work every time”, he admits. “Listen, I’m going to be careful. I’ll lock all the doors and hide the keys so I’ll stay in the house. And I’ll only go back once a week or so, I promise -”

“No, don’t promise anything”, his sister interrupts him with something akin to a laugh.

It makes Harry relax a little and when she speaks again, her voice sounds a little less relentless. “I don’t like the thought of you going back”, she says. “But as long as you’re careful and sensible and you keep things within limits, I guess I can’t really say anything, can I? And as you said, there seems to be no other alternative, so…”

“I don’t think an exorcism will work for this kind of thing, will it?”, Harry jokes.

“No, I don’t think it will. But I could always ask some friends from the theology department!”, this time his sister laughs for real.

“So, how are you doing? Apart from _that_ , of course.”

“I’m actually doing really well. The book is coming along nicely, I’m well pleased with that. I think life in country is really helping my creative process. I can’t complain!” He might be exaggerating a tiny bit, but he can’t stand the worried tone in Gemma’s voice any longer.

“And you still see the others often?”

“Yes, of course!”

He’s relieved that his sister doesn’t ask about his friends further, instead launching into a stream of questions about his book. He hasn’t told her about his suspicions of them all being people from his past or about his frustrations in trying to watch and analyse Zayn’s every move when they’re together, just in case he says or does something that might hint to a closer connection to his ancestor.

It’s completely futile. He never does.

He hasn’t told his sister about Mrs. Hutcherson either. It feels like he might be pushing her suspension of disbelief if he told her he’s now in cahoots with a witch who can see ghosts and possibly read minds.

“Well, just take care of yourself, okay?”, Gemma finally says when they end their call. Harry promises her he’ll try his very best.

***

He chooses to stage his next visit in the early hours of the morning again, when not many other people are awake. He makes sure that there’s no unnecessary clutter around that he could run into and hurt himself with when he walks around the house as Edward and then he locks both doors and hides the key in the cutlery drawer.

Then he sits down at the kitchen table and lights his trusty candle.

The first episode lasts less than half an hour and leaves him a little disappointed. Nothing happened. He spent the entire time patching up his uncle’s working boots while his aunt prepared breakfast. He can’t help but feeling a little disheartened once he’s back in the present.

The next visits prove to be a little more rewarding, though. He’s curious, so he tries his little ritual in the living room instead of the kitchen.

He finds himself reading, not the novel he borrowed from William but a farming handbook that his uncle gave to him as part of some sort of farming education. It’s a rainy afternoon and his aunt is knitting by the fire while Catherine is sitting by the window doing some needlework. Aunt Margaret is leading a fairly one-sided conversation about her daughter’s engagement while Catherine, hiding her face from her mother, gives only mumbled replies. Edward’s heart aches for his cousin.

His uncle and Dr. Saunders have set the date for a dinner with the two soon-to-be betrothed that they hope will settle the whole affair. Mr. John Mills is expected to ask for Catherine’s hand in marriage the following day.

“… and of course we will have to accept Captain Morland’s kind invitation. It’s the privilege of the rich, I suppose, that they shall have their ways while we have to submit to them”, his aunt laments.

His aunt goes on, chatting idly over her knitting, not realising the way Edward’s head snapped up at the mention of William’ name.

“I suppose his father has heard about your fortunate match Catherine, and wants to show his congratulations in this manner. They’ve never been very neighbourly before, I can’t think of anything else that might have prompted this invitation.”

Catherine gives Edward a quick, meaningful glance and quickly turns away again to hide her smile from her mother.

She clearly thinks the invitation has something to do with Edward and thinking back to his visit at the manor – the memory immediately making him blush and squirm in his chair – he thinks his cousin might have a point.

***

By keeping his visits confined to the inside of the house and taking the ritual to different rooms, he begins to get a pretty clear picture of Edward’s day to day life with his uncle’s family.

Most days, he helps his uncle and James for a couple of hours, slowly learning the ways of the farm. He’s not very skilled at handiwork though and his uncle isn’t a patient teacher, so more often than not, Edward spends his days inside of the house with the women, helping his aunt with the more exhausting household chores. He learns the gruelling process of doing laundry, he scrubs floorboards and milks the cows.

William left only a few days after his father’s return from London to visit an old schoolfriend of his in Hampshire, which Harry happy to hear because it means he can spend his visits in his uncle’s house without missing another encounter between Edward and William.

Harry, as well as Edward two hundred years before him, awaits the dinner with Dr. Saucer and his ready to marry nephew with some anxious anticipation.

In the end, it’s as boring as it is excruciating. Edward has never taken a liking to Dr. Saucer, who is a loud, unpleasant man whose only real interest is hunting – a subject he talks passionately about at any opportunity.

As it turns out, he shares this passion with his nephew, who spends most of the evening ignoring Catherine altogether in favour of talking about his plans for next season and the best places in England to hunt foxes, his only acknowledgement of the ladies at the table that of a man who thinks his subject of conversation too masculine for women to understand.

Edward feels deeply for his cousin, whom he’s rarely ever seen this quiet for a whole evening, a quiet rage at the injustice of the whole situation steadily rising up inside of him. He thinks back to the day in the woods and the passion that burned inside of William’s eyes when he talked about a better world where women and men could choose who they love freely.

Sadly, the world is much more cruel and it twists Edward’s guts to imagine Catherine in an unhappy marriage, never getting to spend her life with the man she really loves. Not unlike himself, he thinks bitterly. He’s never going to be able to marry the man he loves. Given the law, their relationship is punishable by hanging. The thought leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth and that night, he goes to bed with a heavy heart.

The next morning arrives with no Mr. Mill in sight, though, and by dinnertime, Catherine seems to relax finally. Edward feels relieved for her, although he’s aware that his cousin’s happiness is most likely on borrowed time, since both her father and Dr. Saucer seem determined about the engagement.

***

Harry is so invested in Catherine’s fate and eager to finally see William again, that he finds himself going back to the 19 th  century more than ever now and by the end of July he’s spending two or three hours of every morning as Edward Farr.

He explains his reclusive mornings by telling everyone that he spends them working on his book, but nobody would have really noticed anyway. Zayn rarely gets up before noon, Louis is still MIA most of the time and Gemma is particularly busy with work. Even Niall begins disappearing some days with no explanation. Sometimes his absence extends to the afternoons and when Harry and Zayn sit down at the bar for a late lunch on the last Saturday of July to find Liam running the pub by himself, they both raise their eyebrows in question.

“No use in asking me”, Liam shrugs as he fills their glasses. “I have no idea where he is. Nobody ever tells me anything anyway around here.”

“Aww, Liam”, Zayn coos. “That’s not true. I tell you everything!”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure you do”, Liam mutters but Harry spots the smile drawing at the corner of his mouth.

“So, you’re going back to France in September?”, Harry resumes the conversation they started on their walk to the pub.

“You’re going to France?”, Liam asks, looking distraught. “You didn’t tell me _that._ ”

“I would have told you right now, I promise”, Zayn laughs at Liam’s puppy eyes. “I have some business at the Paris office and decided to take some time off afterwards to go to Antibes, visit my dear boat, soak up some sun. I’ll probably visit my parents when I’m down there as well. They have a house in Spain where they usually spend there autumns”, he says as a way of explanation in Harry’s direction and then he sighs drearily.

“Do you not have a good relationship with your parents?”, Harry asks curiously.

“Oh no, they’re great”, Zayn shakes his head. “But these days my mum usually spends half of her time trying to set me up with one of her friends’ daughters. I know she means well and I love her to bits, really, but it gets a bit tiring after a while.”

Liam and Harry both chuckle sympathetically.

“Anyway, does anyone want anything from France?”, Zayn cheers up again. “Just say the word and I’ll deliver it to you. What about those coffee bowls that you always talk about Liam?”

Harry has never heard Liam talk about coffee bowls, but apparently Zayn knows more than him, because Liam’s face lights up at the mere mention of them. “You really don’t have to, Zayn”, he says unconvincingly.

“Oh come on, you always talk about wanting some. I’ll bring you some, no further discussion. Will four be enough?”

“More than enough”, Liam grins widely looking absolutely pleased with himself.

“What about you, Harry?”

“Would it be too bold to ask for one of those Louis Vuitton bags?”, Harry jokes.

“Do you want one?”, Zayn asks geuninely and Harry lets out a shocked laugh.

“God no, I was only joking. I’d probably have to sell a kidney to afford anything made my Louis Vuitton.”

“What’s made by Louis?”, Niall is walking towards them from the door, looking interested.

“Louis Vuitton”, Zayn informs Niall who looks at him in confusion.

“It’s a designer brand”, Harry explains.

“Oh. Well then I’d like to retract my interest in your conversation”, Niall claims, moving behind the bar to wash his hands.

“Where were you, by the way?”, Zayn asks. “And why do you look so happy?”

“I have no idea what you mean. I always look happy”, Niall says, an even wider grin than usual spreading across his face. That’s all they can get out of him all afternoon, no matter how hard they try to get him to talk.

“Do you think he’s dating someone?”, Zayn asks on their way home.

Harry shrugs and for some reason the image of Niall looking fondly at Louis pops into his head. Surely not… He doesn’t even know if either of them are gay.

The topic hasn’t really come up, except for their conversations about Harry’s book that everybody seems to be very invested in. Which could mean it’s not impossible. It might not even be unlikely, he thinks now. After all hey were all very cool about his research from the get go and none of them had seemed surprised by the prospect of Harry not being straight.

Or maybe they are just decent human beings, a more persistent voice says in the back of his head.

“Well, I guess we’re going to find out sooner or later”, Zayn muses, shaking Harry from his thoughts. “I’m going to drop by Louis’ real quick to see how he’s doing. Bye, Harry!”  
And with a wave he’s off, walking right across the fields behind Harry’s house.


	10. Chapter 10

Heavy clouds are blocking the sun as Harry makes his way around the house to the backdoor, stepping into the kitchen and throwing the key on the counter.

A sudden throbbing pain behind his temple stops him in his tracks and he gently massages the place above his right ear.

“Does your head hurt?”, Catherine asks gently.

“It’s probably just the change of weather”, Edward replies and tries for a smile.

He watches Catherine’s sad face for a moment as she peels the potatoes at the table. Her situation is beginning to take a toll on her, he can tell. His once lively, affectionate cousin changed into a quiet, withdrawn version of herself these days.

No wonder, he thinks. It must be horrible, knowing that you’re going to be separated from the person you love forever so soon. His uncle has become more and more unpleasant and short-tempered with every day that goes by without a marriage proposal from Mr. Mill.

“Edward”, his uncle’s sharp voice comes from the backdoor. “I want doves for dinner tonight. Run to the dovecote and fetch some for me.” Edward looks at him with big eyes. He’s never had to kill anything before. Whenever they’ve slaughtered one of their animals, James is the one to help his uncle and Edward has been glad for it. But James is still out in the barn, too far away to come to his aid.

“What are you waiting for, boy!”, his uncles temper rises again. “The bird is not going to fly into the pan by itself.”

“Joseph”, his aunt tries to placate him. “He’s never killed an animal before.”

“It’s about time he learns”, his uncle growls. “Go on, boy. Time to prove you’re a man.”

Edward winces at the words but he doesn’t want to disobey his uncle, not when he’s already angry. Both women look at him compassionately but neither of them wants to anger his uncle more and he can’t blame them for their caution.

He’s left with no choice.

An ice cold sense of dread settles in his stomach and makes his hands shake slightly when he pushes open the door to the dovecote.

It’s located just east of their farm, a sturdy round building with a wooden roof open at the very top, allowing the doves to fly in and out. A simple, yet effective, mechanism, operated by pulling a rope next to the door, activates a contraption not unlike a trap door that closes the roof, trapping the doves inside. It’s convenient and most of all deadly.

Edward shivers at the thought as he closes the door behind himself. It’s pitch black in there as soon as the roof is closed and all he can hear is the gentle cooing of hundreds of pigeons around him. There’s a lump in his throat and his heartbeat picks up as if he’s the one facing his demise. Blindly, his hands find one of the nooks. The dove comes into his hands willingly, without fear, cooing serenely, not sensing any danger.

As he holds the dove in his hand, he can feel the fluttering beating of the tiny heart against his palm almost as vividly as he feels his own.

“I can’t do it”, he whispers and immediately sets the bird back into its place. “What am I going to do now?”

The answer seems to come out of nowhere, a disembodied voice in the dark behind him. “You know there’s a fine for theft of one of my birds.”

He recognises the voice immediately and whips around, his heart beating for another reason now. William Morland pulls the rope and the roof opens again, the trap is lifted and the doves are free to live another day.

“How did you get in here?”, Edward asks roughly, too surprised and shocked for anything else.

William raises his eyebrows and points to the second, much smaller door behind him before taking a step closer to Edward. “That’s not the warm greeting I imagined. Haven’t you missed me?”, William asks, a glint in his eyes.

Edward raises his head and gives him a dignified look. “Have _you_ missed me?”

A strange expression appears on William’s face and his eyes seem to emit sparks from the intense way he looks at Edward before he makes a sudden movement, pressing him against the wall with his full body. Edward’s breathing picks up at the contact and he wants to lean forward and be the first to touch their lips together this time, but something stops him.

“You can’t even imagine how much”, William finally whispers, his breath hot against his lips, before he crosses the distance between their mouths.

Their kiss is soft and much shorter than Edward would have liked, but William pulls back after only a moment to look into his eyes again. “Did you like your book?” He sounds a little out of breath.

Trying to calm his own breathing, Edward clears his throat. “I did. Very much.”

“Good”, William smiles, his face still hovering only a few inches from his own. “I’ve brought you something.”

William reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, metal object. “This is for you”, he says, placing it in Edward’s palm.

It’s a key.

“This is a key to the door of the small courtyard underneath my room. That way you can come and go as you please, without my father or anyone else finding out about it.”

“I don’t know if I can accept this”, Edward hesitates and William’s face falls. “What if my uncle finds this? It’s too risky.”

The smile returns to William’s face. “That won’t be a problem.”

He takes the key from his hand again and places it in an empty nook in the wall behind him.“It’s in the one with the broken perch. You won’t have trouble finding it again.”  
Edward nods, still feeling jittery from the way William’s body is still leaning against his own as it it’s the most natural thing in the world for them to be touching like this.

“And now”, William’s smile turns wicked, “all that’s left is your punishment.”

“My punishment?”, Edward feels his heartbeat pick up again.

“For stealing from me.”

“I didn’t steal the bird.”

“But you were trying to”, William challenges him.

“Only because my uncle told me to. I didn’t know this dovecote belongs to you.”

“It’s on my father’s land.” William smiles again. “There’s no use in denying it, Edward. I have every right to impose a penalty.”

His surprisingly soft hand is cradling Edward’s face and for a moment they simply look at each other, with so much unspoken emotion and _desire_ that it sends a shiver down Edward’s spine even before William’s lips are on his again.

It’s immediately more intense than their last kiss, their hands and mouths seem to have grown hungry from their separation. William pins his hands to the wall behind him and presses his thigh between his legs, making him groan. It comes out louder than he expected, but before he can feel embarrassed he can hear William moaning in response and then he can feel his hot, heavy erection pressing against his own hip.

It’s a heady sensation and he doesn’t really know what to do with himself, his own hard length rubbing against William’s thigh making him feel hot and tingly all over. Cautiously, he tries moving his hips forward and he moans again, even louder this time. William pulls away, panting against his mouth and looking at him, the familiar glint of humour almost hidden beneath the seductive expression in his hooded eyes.

Edward thinks that if this is his punishment for stealing, he might just consider becoming a thief.

“Do you want to take another one?”, William smirks, almost reading his mind. He smiles back, but shakes his head.

“I couldn’t even kill this one.”

A soft finger strokes along his jawline. “There’s no shame in being soft-hearted, Edward.”

“My uncle thinks otherwise. And many would agree with him, I suppose”, Edward shrugs but William shakes his head ardently.

“What should you care, what other people think? Don’t let them burn your heart.” He touches his chest where his heart is. “It’s too precious to me.”

Edward doesn’t know what to reply, but he doesn’t have to, because William is already kissing him again. After another long, breathless minute, William breaks away from him, panting, obviously trying to regain his bearings.

“I’ll accompany you out”, he says with a shaky voice. “I need to have a word with your uncle about my father’s doves. Come on.”

William opens the door for Edward and the sun seems blindingly bright after getting used to the dim light for so long. The light seems to only get brighter and brighter until he has to close his eyes.

***

Harry is alone in the small garden within the few remains of the dovecote. It takes him a moment to regain his balance but then he runs back to the house and upstairs into his bedroom in a burst of energy. He takes the small key out of his jewellery box.

He takes the short cut to Oakwell manor, walking directly across the fields behind his house, and he soon finds himself on a narrow pathway along the tall brick wall marking the backside of the courtyard, that looks like it hasn’t been used in ages. He has no problem finding the door, even though it’s almost completely overgrown with ivy. The wood looks withered, like nobody’s touched it in many years. He locates the handle, feeling around for the lock beneath it. He holds his breath in suspense as he fishes the small key out of his pocket.

It fits perfectly but he can’t turn it. Decades, possibly centuries of neglect and humidity made the lock rusty and unmovable.

Harry’s not exactly sure what he expected or what he would have done if he’d been able to open the door. At least he knows now what the key belongs to and why it was left in the dovecote, he tells himself, trying to shake the vague sense of disappointment.

It’s an eerie feeling, he thinks as he’s walking back towards his house, seeing the remains of the dovecote when – just a few moments ago in his memory – it was a functional building filled with the soft coos of birds.

The feeling quickly turns into dread when he gets a closer look at the garden within its remains.

The flower garden is in full bloom, a floral rainbow of colours and shapes. But now, there’s a clear path of trampled, broken flowers where he walked.

Feeling guilt settle in his bones, he walks through the path one more time, careful not to step on anything else. He looks at the nook with the broken perch and he can’t help but smile at the memory. There’s no reason for him to keep the key any longer, now that he knows what it unlocks. He might as well put it back where William hid it two hundred years ago. He takes the key out of his pocket and slides it back in there, the sound of metal scraping over stone sounding final.

He’s still standing in the midst of destruction, unsure what to do, when Zayn rounds the corner of his house a moment later, walking slowly and carefully, as if he’s making his way through unknown territory.

“Found some more treasures?”, he asks with a wide grin.

“Nothing new”, Harry shakes his head, trying for a smile himself. “How was your afternoon with Louis?”

“Oh”, Zayn clearly tries to refocus his gaze that’s gone a little crooked. “It was great. I convinced him to take a break from his work and we had a _splendid_ time. That word doesn’t get used enough don’t you think? Splendid”, he repeats slowly, leaning against the low wall between him and Harry with a loopy grin. “We opened one of his _splendid_ bottles of scotch and had a merry old time with it.”

“I can see that”, Harry chuckles.

“Oh no!”, Zayn suddenly exclaims in true despair, slightly exaggerated by his drunken state. “What happened to the bleeding hearts?”

Harry looks down at the destruction next to his feet, examining the miserably squished pink blossoms. “That’s what they were called?” How ironic, he thinks to himself.

“It must have been some kind of animal”, Zayn guesses. “Louis is going to lose his mind.”

“He won’t”, Harry says with conviction. “He hasn’t lost his mind once about this garden, not even when I tried weeding and pulled out all the wrong plants. He’s much more balanced than you and Niall give him credit for.”

Zayn gives him a funny, albeit slightly unsteady, look. “Maybe”, he shrugs. “But I didn’t come here to talk about Louis or his flowers.”

“You had an even _more_ interesting reason for coming?”

“Yes”, Zayn looks like he’s trying to remember for a moment. Finally his face lights up. “I wanted to ask you for a cup of coffee. Louis’ scotch is terribly strong and I was too proud to tell him when I had enough. He always makes fun of me for being a lightweight. But I’m scared I’m going to fall into a ditch on my way home now.”

Harry laughs and rounds the wall to take Zayn by the shoulder and lead him into the house. “Come on. We can’t have that, of course. Someone might find you and I’m sure that would be the talk of the whole village for a month or so.”

Zayn leans heavily on Harry’s supporting arm as they stagger towards the backdoor and when they finally make it, he misses the doorway and bounces off the frame on his first try before stumbling into the kitchen.

Harry follows him and he’s got one foot in the house already when he sees a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, from the direction of the old oak tree. He turns his head quickly, but not quick enough. The place under the oak tree is deserted. The scene is peaceful in the warm glow of the quickly setting sun and no sound can be heard, except for the whisper of the wind in the abandoned dovecote garden.

***

It starts raining that night, a heavy, persistent rain that lasts all day on Sunday. It lightens up a little on Monday, but there seems to be no end to the constant dribble in sight.

Harry loves rain, usually. He loves to curl up under a blanket with a hot cup of tea and listen to the rain while he reads a book, he loves hearing the gentle tapping of rain against his window while he’s working or when he’s falling asleep at night.  
But after three days of incessant rain, he’s reached his limit.

Not even his visits to the nineteenth century are able to cheer him up. Three times he’s gone back and three times Edward spent the entire time in the laundry, washing and drying all of their best clothes for the dinner at the manor. It was depressing. He hates doing laundry.

In the end, it’s boredom that makes him brace the bad weather for the short walk to the Black Bull. He’s obviously not the only one who decided to spend the rainy day in the comfortable, cosy atmosphere of the pub, since it’s absolutely packed with people. Every table in the taproom is full and a quick look into the parlour tells him that all the sofas and chairs are occupied as well. The distinct smell of slowly drying wet clothes hangs in the air that’s filled with chatter and laughter.

Harry spots Louis at the bar, who looks like he came in straight from the field and smells like a sheep with aftershave on. He scoots over a little to make more room for Harry and greets him with a smile. “I haven’t seen you in a while”, Harry says in lieu of a proper greeting.

“And you shouldn’t be seeing me now, either”, he says with a dry smile. “I’ve still got mountains of work waiting for me. But that bloody rain is driving me up the walls so I thought a quick pint or two might help. And I had to get my post.”

Harry cranes his neck to look at the flat package that’s lying next to Louis’ elbow on the bar. “Wait. Is that my sister’s handwriting?”, Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Sure is”, Louis nods. “Last time she was here we got to talking about Oscar Wilde and she promised me to lend me this turn of the century edition of his poetry that she’s got lying around. I assume this is it.”

“So you haven’t even opened it yet?”, Niall asks leaning over the bar and greeting Harry with a quick smile. “Honestly Louis, you’re seriously lacking a healthy sense of curiosity. There could be _something else_ in there, something exciting...!”

“Knock yourself out”, Louis leisurely gesture to the package. “Open it, if you’re so curious.”

“Alright, I will”, Niall rips open the paper and pulls out an old, slightly battered looking book with a crooked smile. “ _The Ballad of Reading Gaol_ by C33. I thought you said Oscar Wilde?”

“It’s an alias”, Louis smiles, looking pleased with himself as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Huh”, Niall says, still looking at the book. “Don’t think I’ve ever read this. What’s it about? And who is Reading Gaol?”

Louis looks at Niall with a stony expression, but Harry can’t help himself at the mention of his favourite poet. “ _What_ is Reading Gaol, rather”, he clarifies. “It was a prison. C33 was actually Oscar Wilde’s cell number.”

“What was he in prison for?”, Niall asks.

“Homosexuality”, Louis says and takes another long sip.

Niall looks at the two, obviously eager for more information. “He was charged with indecency for being in a relationship with another man, Alfred Douglas. He was imprisoned for two years in Reading and wrote this poem about his experience afterwards”, Harry explains further.

Niall looks genuinely shocked. “That’s terrible”, he shakes his head, looking sad.

“There’s actually a very famous verse in it”, Harry starts up. “I don’t know why I can’t remember it right now -”

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves, by each let this be heard, some do it with a bitter look, some with a flattering word -”, Louis recites beside him and Harry turns to him with a strange feeling of pleasant surprise and recognition at the words.

“- the coward does it with a kiss, the brave man with a sword!“, he finishes the verse, looking into Louis’ eyes and thinking that he’s rarely seen them look so serious as right this moment.

“Woah, that’s deep!” Niall’s voice breaks the moment that seems to inexplicably stretch between Harry and Louis, like gooey caramel, making it almost impossible for Harry to pull his eyes away from Louis’.

“Yeah, I remember I was really affected by it when I first read it in Cambridge”, Louis takes the book from Niall’s hand, admiring the cover for a moment. “It’s really nice of your sister to lend me her copy. It’s beautiful.”

The bittersweet words of his favourite poet lamenting about a love dramatically lost are still echoing in his mind, but Harry physically shakes himself out of his trance. “You must have made quite the impression on her. She usually hates lending people her books”, he smiles at Louis. “That’s probably my fault. I think I still have some books in my shelves even now that she lent me when we were kids.”

“You also still have some of my gardening books in there.”

Harry takes a quick sip of his drink and clears his throat. “Yes, I know. I have a terrible habit of hoarding books. Libraries all across the country shudder at the mention of my name. I promise to give you your book back soon!”

“There’s no rush”, Louis shrugs. “I rarely ever use them nowadays, and they seem to be useful to you. The garden looks great.”

Harry feels a stab of guilt at the words. “Have you seen it, uh… lately?”, he asks.

“Two days ago.”

“Oh”, Harry deflates. “I’m so sorry that the bleeding hearts got destroyed!”

“It’s not your fault”, Louis acquits him easily. “It’s not like you mowed them down yourself. Stuff like that happens. Can I get another one?” He slides his pint glass over to Niall.

“Where’s Zayn by the way?”

“He had to go to Edinburgh for… something. Probably some CEO emergency”, Niall shrugs. “Do you want another one, Harry?”

Harry shakes his head. He’s feeling restless all of the sudden, eager to _do_ something. “I think I’m going to go visit your aunt”, he says to Niall, clapping his palms on the bar. “Do you think she’s at the manor?”

Niall looks at the clock. “Half past three? For sure. She usually stays until dinner.”

“Do you think I should call, or…”

“Who, Freda?”, Louis smirks. “She’ll have a pot of tea ready before you get there, you’ll see.”

***

As it turns out, Louis was right. When Harry steps into the warm, welcoming kitchen at the manor, the table has already been set and the kettle has obviously just boiled, quietly bubbling in the corner, and the delicious smell of indeterminate baked goods hangs in the air.

“Oh, what a nice surprise”, Mrs. Hutcherson greets him with a warm smile as she brews their tea with practised movements. “I was hoping for an afternoon visitor.” She ushers Harry to sit down and places a huge plate of various biscuits on the table between them.

“I’m actually here for a reason”, Harry admits after his first sips of tea, and bites into a buttery biscuit. “Are there any tours scheduled this afternoon?”

“No, never on Wednesdays.” She examines him with her observant eyes. “You want to use one of the rooms.” It’s not a question.

“Yes”, Harry replies and takes a deep breath. “I think I want to know what happened by the window in the blue room. All my memories are tied to the place they happened, so I have to be in there to be able to go back to that moment.”

“I know. But are you sure you want to go back to that moment already? What happened there was very painful for Edward. Are you certain you’re ready for that?”

Harry thinks for a moment, remembering the storm of painful emotions he felt when he first visited the room with Zayn.

“I _have_ to know”, he looks at her, silently pleading her to understand. “These people… they are all so real to me, you know? I just have to know what happened to all of them!”

Mrs. Hutcherson looks at him for a moment longer, before she finally nods in understanding. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, thank you”, Harry says hastily, smiling apologetically. “I’d feel weird if I knew someone is watching me, I think.”

“Alright, then.” Mrs. Hutcherson puts down her teacup with a smile. “I don’t think you could hurt yourself up there. I believe most of the furniture is still arranged in the exact way as it was then.”

“I guess I’m about to find out”, Harry grins, but then he remembers something else. “These flashbacks, they can sometimes take hours. If I’m not done by the time you want to leave…”

“… then I’ll leave on some lights for you and lock the main doors. You know how to get out through the side entrance, right? I wouldn’t want to disturb you, once you’ve started.”

“Thank you”, Harry says with a grateful smile. “Well, then.” He gets out of his chair and claps his hands together nervously. “I better go. Wish me luck!”

***

It’s an eerie feeling, walking through the halls of Oakwell Manor, knowing what he’s about to attempt. The house is completely quiet and his footsteps are echoing from the walls and ceilings. His whole body seems to be buzzing with nerves when he reaches the blue room, carefully opening the door to slip inside.

It’s dark in here without the sun shining through the big window. The blue of the walls and the canopy on the four-poster bed seem gloomy in the grey light. Harry walks to the window and peers out. The raindrops are smudging his view, but he can still make out the bell tower of the church that seems to loom over the rose garden.

He takes a step closer and the feeling hits him with the force of a tidal wave, making him stumble. Panic and pain are washing over him, coursing through his veins with a burning intensity. _No,_ a voice seems to plead inside of his head, over and over again. _No, no, no…_

The ringing in his ears reaches an excruciating volume, vibrating through his entire body, and then it breaks off, so suddenly as if someone had slammed the door.

It’s quiet when he opens his eyes and looks out of the window over the sunlit lawn and the rose garden. He can hear the birds chirping even through the glass of the window.

“I’m glad you came”, William says behind him, stepping closer. Edward can feel the warmth radiating off of his body and onto his own back.

He turns around. “Your father won’t return until tomorrow?”

William smiles reassuringly. “I am certain.” He steps closer, tugging on one of Edward’s unruly curls. “You don’t need to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous”, Edward instinctively objects, despite the queasy feeling in his stomach. William clearly doesn’t believe him, a concerned look appearing on his affectionate face.

“Nothing has to happen, you know? We can just talk.”

Edward takes a shaky breath. And then he shakes his head. “I don’t want to just talk”, he says with a slowly growing smile, his shaky hands steadying.

William cocks a brow and smirks. “Am I not a satisfying conversationalist to your then, Mr. Farr?”

His mock-offence makes Edward laugh. “You are, indeed, _sir_ ”, he says with emphasis. “But I’m afraid, while conversations and looks might satisfy my heart, my body and soul crave things that words can’t provide.”

It’s bold, he knows. Bolder than anything that has ever been said between them possibly, but for some reason he’s not scared any more.

The moment the words are out, all of his anxiety falls off him and there’s only excitement, affection and love, and intoxicating mixture of emotions. _Love_ , he thinks. He loves William Morland with all of his heart and soul, and the unfamiliar but distinct feeling of lust is thrumming through him like a precursor of things to come.

William takes yet another step closer and touches his hand to Edward’s cheek incredibly softly in a gesture of tenderness that almost feels like it might rip Edward’s heart out and break it. His blue eyes are boring into his own with a burning intensity and suddenly Edward can see himself in them like a mirror, see his own rivalling feelings of love, lust and almost feverish adoration, a wild, hungry kind of longing that connects them in silent understanding.

They are the same, two sides of one coin, and they need each other like a ship needs a harbour, and when their lips meet this time, it’s in perfect synchronicity.

Kissing William is as easy as breathing. The touch of his skin on his own, the way his warm hands grip his hair, his neck, his cheek before they travel over his body, finding his waist and his hips before they go even lower until they caress the swell of his arse, makes him feel as if he’s being made anew, as if he’s being created as a new being, moulded like clay by his lover’s hands until he’s transformed.

The way William looks at him between kisses and speaks to him in the softest of all voices, asking permission with his eyes and his words, praising him, makes him feels like he’s glowing from within, so he’s almost surprised to see his own skin in its usual colour as William slowly strips him out of his clothes before removing his own.

The fall back unto William’s big, soft four-poster bed with their lips and hands still attached, giggling softly at the quiet sigh Edward lets out at the impact.

“You are beautiful, darling”, William says softly, his naked body hovering over Edward’s, who can feel himself blush at the words. Soft fingertips brush over the flushed skin of his cheeks in featherlight touches.

“My love is like a red, red rose”, William whispers and Edward wants to write poems about his blue, blue eyes and about the way his heart and body yearn for the man looking down at him. Instead, he kisses him, revelling in his taste and the feeling of their naked bodies brushing against each other, entangling themselves in one another until there’s no part of them left untouched.

When William spreads him open and makes love to him, it’s everything at once, every possible sensation, every emotion they have ever felt for each other. It’s soft and steady, sweet and loving, it’s hungry and restless, tender, delicate and urgent all at once, one all-encompassing, overwhelming blend of feelings that builds and builds until it erupts, crashing over him in waves of pleasure and leaving him breathless and sweaty and feeling no other sensation than utter bliss.

He’s never felt this perfectly happy, Edward thinks afterwards, when William lays his head on his chest, right next to the locket, and he strokes his dark hair with idle movements. “I can hear your heart beating”, William whispers into the silent room. “And the breath travel to your lungs. We’re _alive_ , aren’t we?”

Edward chuckles softly. “We are alive.” And then he turns his head a little to look at William’s face.

“I love you.”

The words seem to just stumble out of his mouth on their own accord simply because it’s the only thing that’s coursing through his whole body and mind at the moment. The air, the blood, the beating heart that William is hearing inside of his chest, it’s all love for him.

William lifts his head and their eyes find each other in the dim, golden light of the sun setting outside.

“I love you”, Edward repeats. “I’ve loved you for a long time, I think.”

William looks completely stunned at his words, his eyes seem like they might flow over from the sheer amount of adoration that shows in them. “And I love you, Edward Farr”, he answers after a moment, touching his hand to Edward’s chest where the locket lies, and leaning closer, so their faces are almost touching. “I love you, I love you, I love you”, he repeats in between the tiny kisses he’s pressing all over Edward’s face, making both of them giggle softly.

However infinite the moment might feel to them, and no matter long they want to stretch it out, time catches up to them eventually, and they both get dressed in silence in the dim light of dusk. William leads you out into the courtyard, showing him the door he’s already got a key to.  
Edward looks around, admiring the beautiful climbing roses on the wall next to it.

“It’s beautiful”, he simply says.

“It’s my favourite part of the estate”, William smiles, but it looks a little sad. “And my least favourite.”

“Why?”

“My mother is buried here. Look”, he takes him by the hand and leads him to a small stone just beneath the beautiful roses that reads: _Johanna Morland._ He looks up at William, who’s smiling down at his mother’s grave softly.

“Why wasn’t she buried in the churchyard?” Edward looks down at the small stone and furrows his brows in confusion.

“She was Catholic, you know. Very strict. Couldn’t bare the thought of being buried on an Anglican churchyard”, he looks down at her grave, a smile playing on his lips. “Not that I think it matters, anyway, but she was very adamant about the whole thing. My father couldn’t bear disrespecting her wishes.”

They share a moment of silence in the quiet of the courtyard, silently paying their respects to William’s mother, before he takes Edward by the arm and leads him towards the door.

The atmosphere has shifted and what seemed beautiful and serene to Edward a moment ago now feels stuffy and claustrophobic. William seems to senses the change of his feelings because he takes his face into both of his hands softly and says: “It will get easier. I promise.”

“Will it?” Edward isn’t so sure. He feels like shouting his love for William from the rooftops but instead, he needs to sneak out of the backdoor in the shadow of the night like a thief.

One look into the sincere depths of blue of William’s eyes is enough to remind him why he does this. Neither of them has the power to change the world around them, but nothing in the world could keep him from spending whatever time they get with the man standing in front of him. The swell of his rapidly beating heart and the look of adoration on William’s face make it all worth it, that much he knows with every fibre of his being.

“I'll see you at the dinner”, William says and then, when Edward has already turned away from him, his voice takes on a lighter, teasing tone. “I hope you’ll wear your best clothes for me, Edward.”

He wants to turn around and reply, but while he turns, the picture around him changes. The roses are gone, replaced by tall grass and bushy branches of ivy hanging from the wall, the door, that had just a minute ago still been open, is now closed and overgrown again and William is gone.

And yet, Harry is not alone. A lone figure is standing on the other end of the courtyard in the shadow of the house. For a split second, his silly heart stops, thinking that it’s William, but then the figure moves into the light and Harry recognises who it is.

There’s an unreadable expression on Zayn’s face as takes another apprehensive step in Harry’s direction, who can’t seem to get his limbs to work, entirely frozen by shock.

“Harry. I think we need to talk.”


	11. Chapter 11

“You think I’ve lost my mind, don’t you?”, Harry asks almost two hours later. It’s completely dark outside by now and they are sitting in the kitchen. Zayn, who’s sitting across the table from Harry, looks tired from his drive down from Edinburgh, but he’s been listening intently to everything Harry had told him, only interrupting him to ask a question here and there.

Harry isn’t exactly sure why he decided to tell Zayn everything – maybe he was just too emotionally exhausted from his last visit with William, or maybe it was the shock of being caught in the act – but suddenly it felt like the dam has broken and everything that’s been happening to Harry these last few months started bubbling out of him. He spared Zayn the more delicate details while still painting the bigger picture, starting with the first time he saw Greywethers when he was five and trying to explain, as well as he could, his relationship to the house and the connection he has to Edward Farr.

Zayn’s expression is unreadable but he shakes his head. “No, of course I don’t.”

Harry isn’t sure if he believes him. He isn’t sure how _he_ would react if someone he’s known for less than half a year broke into his house at night and then proceeded to explain that he’s only done it to live through a flashback of his former life.

“It’s okay”, he tries for a reassuring smile. “Honestly, sometimes I still think I might have just gone a bit mad…”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you”, Zayn shakes his head again, obviously trying hard to wrap his mind around everything he’s just heard. “Well, I don’t _know_ if I believe you. But I don’t doubt that _you_ believe in all of this, does that make sense?”

Harry nods. “I know, it’s a lot. It took me a while to get used to as well.”

“So you’ve been dating my ancestor, huh?”, Zayn almost smirks but his face goes stern again after only a second. “William Morland. Captain William Morland… if we only knew more about his later life, anything to prove this whole”, he gestures around helplessly, “…thing.”

“Is there really nothing about him in your documents?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No. I’ve looked through them so many times, I would remember him. The last documentation we have of him is from 1810.”

“Hmm, that’s before he went to France”, Harry muses. Zayn raises his eyebrows and looks at him curiously. “He fought in the Napoleonic Wars. That’s where he became _Captain_ William Morland.”, he explains. “But he came back afterwards. He definitely lived here in 1816…”, he tries to think of anything that could prove his story to Zayn.

Finally, it comes to him. It’s not exactly proof, but it’s better than nothing. “The portrait!”, he says with a start, getting up from his chair abruptly.

“Portrait?”, Zayn looks puzzled. “I don’t remember a portrait in the Gallery of William Morland’s son…”

“That’s because it’s not in the gallery. It’s the one in the library! The playboy? That’s William. Come on!”, Harry is not exactly sure why he’s dragging Zayn to the library, but he just wants him to _see._

“This is him”, he says solemnly, when they stand in front of the picture. William’s blue eyes are sparkling down at them.

“Isn’t there _any_ hint that proves who you are?”, Harry murmurs, his eyes searching the pictures.

“And you are absolutely sure that it’s William?”, Zayn asks, shooting him an inquiring glance from the side. “Are those the clothes he’s wearing when you… see him?”

“No. They’re similar though – he liked wearing dark colours. But this picture was also painted about a year or so before I met him.”  
Zayn looks at him strangely. “I see…”

“But it’s him, I _know_ it’s him, Zayn. Just the same as I know who you are. I know him”, he’s beginning to sound like a petulant child, but he doesn’t know what else to do to convince Zayn that he’s not insane.

Zayn leans forward, taking another close look at the portrait. “Too bad his mother didn’t write his name on his collar, or something”, he jokes.  
Harry’s head snaps up. “That’s it!”, he almost yells.

Zayn turns to look at him curiously. “What is it?”

“His mother! William’s mother!”, he’s jittery with excitement now. “Listen, what if I could tell you something, that I could have only found out by seeing it with my own eyes and what if I could give you material proof of the matter. Would you believe me then?”

“I believe you now”, Zayn says, but Harry shakes his head.

“No, you don’t. Not _really._ But I can show you something that’s definitely a fact and maybe then you’ll be able to accept the rest as fact, too!”

“By the law of deduction?”, a tiny smile starts to build on Zayn’s face. “Okay, Sherlock. Show me what you’ve got.”

“We’ll need a shovel”, Harry says and the smile immediately disappears from Zayn’s face.

“A shovel?”

“Well, something we can dig around in the dirt with.”

It’s completely dark in the courtyard but at least it finally stopped raining and Harry feels like they’re in some sort of Halloween film with the way he’s digging around in the overgrown patch of grass, weeds and thorns by the back wall while Zayn holds his phone as a flashlight.

“What exactly is it that you’re looking for?”, Zayn asks, and if he didn’t doubt Harry’s sanity earlier in the night, he definitely does now judging by the look on his face when Harry turns to him and blows a strand of hair off of his sweaty forehead.

“The gravestone”, he says simply and returns to his work.

They only found a tiny handheld shovel that isn’t a huge help to get through the shrubbery, but Harry isn’t going to give up so easily.

“William’s mother was a Catholic and she refused to be buried down in the churchyard”, he explains in between scoops. “So they buried her here. There should be a -” He cuts off when the shovel hits something solid with a loud clink. Zayn and Harry look at each other for a second, before Zayn takes a step closer to him, to see what it is. Harry is quickly shovelling away some more dirt with his bare hands, and then they see the stone.

It looks much darker than Harry remembers it, but then again, it had been covered in dirt for however many decades, but the writing is still readable.

 _Johanna Morland_ , Harry reads, for the second time that night. Zayn’s head snaps up after moment and he looks him straight in the eye, utter shock written all over his features.

“Oh my god”, he says, sounding completely stunned. “That’s… incredible. Impossible!”

“Welcome to my world”, Harry jokes.

Zayn blinks a couple of times and then he wipes his face with his whole palm. “I think I need a drink”, he says in a hollow voice. “I’m going to text Niall, see if he’s still open.”

Considering it’s almost midnight on a week night, Harry doubts it. “I need to get out of here for a moment.” Harry takes a look at Zayn’s pale, almost grey-looking skin and thinks a brisk walk to the pub might actually be a good idea.

Miraculously, Niall is still awake and tells them to come over immediately. They spend the short walk in complete silence, each engrossed in their own thoughts, and although Harry is desperately wondering what’s going on in Zayn’s mind, he doesn’t dare to ask.

***

To their complete surprise, they find Niall still working the bar, although, “working” would be a gross exaggeration. When they come in, he’s sitting at the bar, trying clumsily to use the beer tap without getting up from his stool, next to Liam, Louis and a third figure.

“Gemma?!” Harry gawks at his sister, who’s sitting – or slouching, rather – at the bar next to Louis. As if this night couldn’t get any weirder.

“Oh hi, boys!”, she greets them with a huge, dopey grin.

“Your sister is here”, Niall informs him unnecessarily.

“I can see that”, Harry says, feeling slightly confused. “Did you three get my sister drunk?”

Niall lifts both of his hands in a gesture of innocence, almost knocking over the pint glass he just barely managed to fill a second ago, with his elbow.

“I had nothing to do with it”, Liam claims as well, nodding his head towards Louis instead.

“These two started hours before Niall and I joined them.”

Louis turns his head and looks a Harry, though he’s clearly struggling to focus his eyes. “Have mercy”, he says. “I’m just desperately trying to keep up with her.”

“Hello there, you must be Zayn, right?”, Gemma extends her hand and flashes Zayn another wonky grin. “Can I buy you a drink, you look like you need one.” They settle down at the bar next to them and Liam, who takes pity on Niall’s fruitless struggle, diligently gets behind the bar to make their drinks.

“So, what were you saying about Frederick the Great?”, Louis turns to Gemma again.

“He made potatoes popular in Prussia by tricking people into thinking they were stealing them”, Harry’s sister explains, waving her hands around half-heartedly.  
Harry and Zayn give Liam a confused look, but he simply shrugs.

“Don’t ask me. They’ve been talking about history all night, I’ve lost the plot long ago.”

“We’re talking about iconic gay historic figures”, Gemma corrects him, “and it’s _very_ interesting, thank you very much.”

“Frederick the Great was gay?”, Zayn asks.

“Oh yeah, shagged his valet up and down Sanssouci”, Gemma explains tranquilly.

“What are you two doing up so late anyway?”, Louis suddenly turns to Zayn. “You look terrible.”

"Thanks, Lou”, Zayn says with a dry smile. “I had a busy day and Harry here kept me from the early night’s rest that I desperately needed.”

Four heads turn to them, Louis raises his eyebrows and Liam almost chokes on his beer.

“Oh, not like that!”, Harry explains quickly, feeling himself blush. “Get your minds out of the gutter, seriously.”

“Actually, it so happens that we were also busy with history. We were on a historical excursion, so to speak. Remember how you used to always say the small courtyard at the manor gives you bad vibes, like a graveyard?”, Zayn says, turning to Louis, who nods briefly. “Well, turns out it _is_ one! We found a gravestone under all of those weeds. William Morland’s wife.”

“First or second?”, Niall asks.

“Wife?”, Zayn looks confused.

“No, William.”

“Oh. First, it would seem”, Zayn shoots Harry a quick glance. “Sadly, we haven’t found out anything new about my mystery ancestor.”

They share a brief look of silent understanding and Harry feels a sudden rush of gratitude towards him. He figures that, everything considered, his reaction could have been _much_ worse.

“Well, I better fix it up a bit if someone’s buried there”, Louis says, somehow looking completely unsurprised by the news. “I’ll come over tomorrow with some tools to take care of it. I’ve still got some beautiful roses that I could replant…”

“And when exactly will you fit this into your busy schedule?”, Niall raises his brows but Louis just shrugs.

“I like to keep busy.”

“I’ll help him”, Zayn throws his arm over Louis’ shoulders.

“Why do you think she was buried there, instead of the churchyard?”, Gemma suddenly pipes up.

“I read somewhere in my family documents that she was a French catholic”, Zayn says nonchalantly and Harry is silently impressed by his seemingly casual tone. “Maybe she didn’t want to be buried on an Anglican church yard?”

He shoots Harry a quick smile and it feels like a weight dropping off his shoulders. Maybe he hasn’t ruined their friendship with his confession.

He’s really lucky to have found such understanding and accepting friends, he thinks and yawns sleepily into his pint. So what, if he hasn’t found his William yet? At least he’s found the best group of people in the whole world.

A familiar presence leans into his space and Harry opens his tired eyes a bit wider to see Louis’ soft looking face leaning in. “Long night?”, he asks sympathetically. The others are launching into a full blown discussion about the history of church burials led by Gemma and Niall, but Harry’s mind has gone all foggy from exhaustion.

“You bet”, Harry mumbles. It’s crazy to think how much has happened since this afternoon when they sat in this exact same spot talking about Oscar Wilde. He had sex with the love of his life in a past life for the first time and then he dug up a grave in the middle of the night. “It’s definitely been eventful.”

A sudden eruption of loud laughter from the other four startles both of them out of their little bubble and Harry watches Louis’ smile at Gemma who is now showing off her bartending skills by balancing four freshly filled pint glasses, her laughter mixing with the boys’ cheering.

“I like your sister”, Louis says in a low voice.

“Yeah”, Harry hums happily. “She’s great.”

“You guys are a lot like each other, you know?”, Louis smiles and it looks like he wants to say something else, but he gets interrupted by Niall hollering for them to watch Gemma twirl behind the bar without spilling a drop of beer.

***

“We could always come up for a week or so, if you don’t want to leave your work”, his mother says on the phone the next day. Harry was just trying to suppress a yawn, but suddenly he’s wide awake.

“… although, personally, I think you could use a break from work. You’ve always gotten so head over heels into your work. But if we stay with you, I could at least take care of the household for you just for a little bit.”

“Mum”, Harry groans. “I’m perfectly able to do my household chores by myself!”

Besides that, the prospect of having his parents stay with him for a week has never been more inconvenient. He wouldn’t be able to visit the 19  th  century for a whole week, let alone the awkward explaining he’d have to do if a spontaneous flashback happened during their stay.

“Well, if you don’t want us in your feet, you could just come visit with your sister”, his mum offers.

“When is Gemma coming?”, Harry asks. She didn’t mention anything last night or this morning before she left, but then again, she had been pretty drunk and hungover, respectively.

“This weekend. Oh, we’d love for you to come along, Harry!”

“This weekend is William’s dinner party, I can’t miss that”, Harry says without thinking.

“Who’s William?”

“What?”, hearing the name out of his mother’s mouth brings him back to reality.

“William. Is he one of your new friends? I’ve never heard you mention him before, I think…”

“Yes, he’s one of my friends here. He… works at the manor”, he quickly stutters and swiftly changes the subject.

“I’ll come visit you soon”, he promises her when they hang up, feeling a little guilty at not knowing if he’ll be able to keep the promise. It’s not that he doesn’t miss his mum, it’s just that he’s so absorbed in everything that’s happening here, that he can’t even think about leaving right now.

He can’t abandon Edward and William. He needs to know what happens to them.

He can’t shake the feeling that something big is going to happen soon. It’s been there for a while now, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, but it’s grown stronger during the last couple of weeks. He’s spent a lot of time thinking about what might have happened to Edward and William.  
After all, it’s very unlikely that they got to have their happily ever after. He feels like something truly tragic must have happened to them for them to be reborn two hundred years later. The lessons of the past, as Mrs. Hutcherson had called them, have yet to unveil themselves.

Maybe the big thing is going to happen at the dinner party at the manor. Either way, Harry knows he can’t miss it. He’s been looking forward to it for weeks now.

Thankfully Zayn is going to be gone over the weekend, visiting an old friend from University, which means that Harry doesn’t have to worry about explaining why he needs to use the manor’s dining room to him.

Although Harry is sure now that Zayn believes him to a degree after discovering the gravestone in the courtyard, he doesn’t want to stretch the boundaries of his acceptance unnecessarily.

He grows more and more restless over time and by the following afternoon, he gives up. He knows there’s exactly one person who might be able to help him sort through his mess of emotions.

He stops by the pub to ask for directions, but it turns out he would have been fine without them. Even if he hadn’t spotted her sitting in a tomato patch by the fence, he feels like he would have recognised Mrs. Hutcherson’s small house in the small lane across from Niall’s pub.

The path to the door is framed by the lushest lavender he’s ever seen, there’s mountains of flowers beneath the low hanging green window shutters and the tomatoes she’s harvesting are roughly the size of small pumpkins.

She gets up when she spots Harry walking towards her and meets him in front of the door with a warm smile. “I expected you earlier, my dear. But I suppose you were busy yesterday, weren’t you”, she greets him. “Have you had lunch yet?”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t hungry earlier.”

“Well, come in then. You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten something.”

She leads him into her cottage that looks and feels a lot as if it absorbed parts of her personality, just like Zayn’s kitchen. It’s warm and inviting and everything from the soft looking chintz chairs to the flowers and herbs that seem to be everywhere, hanging from the ceiling and growing in pots on all available surfaces, looks cosy and homey.  
It feels like a warm hug and lifts Harry’s spirits immediately.

Mrs. Hutcherson sits him down on one of the slightly wobbly kitchen chairs, while she starts rummaging through her cupboards. He’s not surprised at all when he spots a black cat lounging in the sun on the windowsill, stretched out in between pots of herbs. But then he realises…

“I think I’ve seen your cat before!”

Mrs. Hutcherson looks up and looks at the cat before she smiles at him. “That wouldn’t surprise me. He’s quite the drifter, that one. Comes after his grandfather, the old vagabond.”

After a miraculously short moment of bustling around her kitchen, she starts loading the table with sandwiches, freshly cut fruits and vegetables, something that looks and smells deliciously like peach cobbler and of course, freshly brewed tea, determined to make Harry feel better and refusing to let him leave on an empty stomach.

“Was that your sister I saw a few days ago walking around the village with Louis and Niall?”, she asks him a while later, as she hands him his second serving of cobbler.

“Yes, that must have been Gemma”, he nods. “Apparently they gave her the grand tour of Bilbury.”

“She looks a lot like you”, Mrs. Hutcherson smiles warmly. “Niall tells me she a historian? What a wonderful profession.”

“Yes, she teaches at the University in Sheffield. I’ll bring her round the next time she’s here”, he promises. “She visits quite regularly since I moved here.”

“She’s worried about you”, Mrs. Hutcherson tilts her head a little, examining him. “Maybe she’s got a reason to be?”

“Oh no”, Harry brushes her off. “I’m fine, really.” Her watchful eyes seem to look right through him and she looks entirely unimpressed by the lie.

“Well, to be honest, I’ve been struggling with controlling my flashbacks. Sometimes I just sort of glide back without realising. Nothing big, thankfully and it’s only happened at home.”

“You’ve been going back almost daily, haven’t you?”

“Almost, yes”, Harry nods. “It’s just so hard not to, you know? These people… I care about them all a lot and I care about what happens to them. They are all so _real…”  
_

 _“_ More real, sometimes, even than us others maybe?”, she looks at him knowingly. “I understand. There’s still plenty of time for the present, when the past is sorted out. But you can’t lose your connection to the present, do you understand?”, she warns him. “The past can teach us many things but it can’t maintain us. The key to life is change and we have to keep evolving and moving forward or else our souls will wither and die.”

***

And then finally, Friday arrives and with it the day of the long awaited dinner.

Although Harry knows that they are not going over to the manor before four or five in the afternoon, he spends all morning wandering around the house, eagerly waiting for the flashback to start. Everything is ready, the doors at home and at the manor are unlocked, thanks to Mrs. Hutcherson, and his phone is on silent. All he can do now is wait anxiously.

Eventually, he finds Catherine in her bedroom at half past four. “Are you coming down? Your mother and father are already putting their coats on”, he asks her. She’s sitting in front of her vanity, looking like she’s ready to go, but when she turns her head, she looks incredibly pale and distraught.

“What’s the matter?”, he takes two steps forward instinctively, kneeling down next to her chair. “Are you ill?”

She looks at him with an unreadable expression and a single tear rolls down her cheek when she reaches out and touches his shoulder. “I’m not feeling well, Edward”, she admits, her voice sounding just as shaky and weak as she looks.

“What’s wrong? Shall I fetch your mother?”, he offers immediately but she shakes her head vehemently.

“No, don’t. It will only upset her if she’s already put on her coat”, she looks at him for a moment. “It’s just a headache, nothing more.”

“Are you sure? You do look very ill”, he presses, worried about the look that’s still in her eyes, something he can’t read.

“I’m sure. Please tell my parents that I will have to miss the dinner, I’m afraid.”

“Of course, yes. Of course, I’ll tell them. You should lay down and rest, you look very pale”, he hovers for another moment. “Are you sure I can’t do anything else for you?”

“No, thank you. That should do it”, she tries for a smile, but it looks weak, more like a nervous twitch.

He moves back towards the door, but before he gets the chance to open it, she calls his name. “Edward”, he turns around to see her smiling wider now, but with more tears running down her face. “Thank you.”

He’s not exactly sure what she’s thanking him for, but he smiles back. “I will see you after the dinner and don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything about it! Don’t be too sad that you have to miss it”, he assures her before making his way down the stairs.

His aunt and uncle are waiting by the door. “Well”, his uncle grunts when he tells them about Catherine. “At least Mr. Mill is still in London.”

“Poor Catherine”, aunt Margaret says, looking compassionate. “It’s all been a bit much for her, don’t you think, Joseph?”

His uncle only makes a non-committal sound as he opens the door and looks at Edward. “Are you ready, son?”

“At least James will be there, in case there’s an emergency”, his aunt muses on their walk and Edward smiles to himself, thinking that James is probably already at her bedside, bringing her tea and taking _very_ good care of his cousin. At least she won’t miss them all too much, as long as she’s got James.

It’s only when the servant leads them to the drawing room, that Edward suddenly realises with a spark of adrenaline, that this is going to be the first time he’s going to be seeing William in the presence of others – apart from their short meeting at the market.

The thought sends a nervous thrill down his spine and he desperately tries not to blush at the memories of their last meeting, which was mostly spent between his sheets, flooding his mind.

The doors to the drawing room open and he spots William immediately, standing by the fireplace with a drink in his hand, a tall, lean figure in his typical black and grey clothing, his dark hair swept away from his face fashionably and his blue eyes, seem to find Edward’s immediately. His breathing stops for a moment and everything seems to be suspended up in the air, as if time stopped for just a second, while they’re eyes meet across the room.

And then another pair of eyes, similar to the ones he loves and yet so different, appear in his line of vision. Admiral Morland’s eyes are pale blue and so much colder than his son’s. “And this must be your nephew”, the Admiral says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yes, sir. This is my sister’s boy, Edward Farr. He’s staying with us for the summer”, his uncle introduces him. “Edward, this is Admiral Morland.”

He bows his head in greeting and examines the Admiral for a moment. He’s never seen him outside of church. He’s a tall, broad man with greying hair and an intimidating, dominant air about him. Edward immediately understands why William doesn’t get along with his father. Something about the man seems cold-hearted, the expression in his cold, almost grey eyes, stony even when he smiles.

“My daughter sends her apologies, I’m afraid she has fallen ill”, his uncle explains after they’ve made the rounds of greeting Mr. and Mrs. Shirley and Dr. Saucer who are sitting on the plush sofas.

“Good thing my nephew is still caught up in London, then. I’m sure he would have missed the lady’s company”, Dr. Saucer says with a crude laugh and toasts his uncle, who furrows his brow, but raises his own glass.

“William, won’t you come greet our new guests”, Admiral Morland calls to his son, who’s still leaning against the mantle piece. “Have you met Mr. Farr? He’s Mr. Howard’s nephew from London.” Edward can feel himself blush as he feels William’s eyes on himself again, and he quickly takes a sip of his red wine, before daring to look up into the already smiling face.

“I believe we have met before”, William says with an almost invisible smirk and his eyes are sparkling with amusement. “How do you do, Mr. Farr?”

Edward clears his throat. “Very well, sir. Thank you”, he manages.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your cousin”, William continues and there’s something in his eyes at the words that makes Edward feel like he’s missing out on a joke.

After drinks, they take to the dinner table. Edward remembers the day William invited him to stay for dinner, and it seems as if the other man’s thoughts are similarly occupied judging by the way he flashes Edward a private smile as they sit down across from each other at the table.

They don’t talk directly to each other for all of dinner, partly because they are always caught up in other conversations and partly because Edward can’t help but blush a little every time William’s amused eyes land on his own.

But then their party retires into the drawing room for drinks after dinner, and Edward suddenly finds himself sitting right next to William.

It’s an excruciating thrill, feeling his body, his warmth, so close to his own, their legs close enough they could almost be touching on the narrow sofa, and listen to him carry on with his conversation with Mr. Shirley like he doesn’t notice at all. Edward’s own mind keeps straying to the memory of the last time they were this close to each other and he has to work very hard to keep himself from blushing at the images running through his head.

William isn’t entirely unbothered by Edward’s presence either, because when he leans forward to put his glass on the table, his arm accidentally touches Edward’s thigh, a fleeting touch that nobody else pays attention to, but Edward hears his breath hitch at the contact and he falters in the middle of his sentence, taking a second to regain his composure.

After a while it gets much more excruciating than it is thrilling, being so close yet so unable to reach out and touch, and the conversation is getting rather boring and tiring. Edward can’t help but wish he were alone with William instead. If he could, he would whisk him away right now, run outside with him, just to feel the fresh night air on his skin and get away from all of these people in the room that he doesn’t like.

Even the ones he likes bore him, the need to be able to speak and touch freely thrumming too loudly through his entire body, making it hard to focus on the conversation.

He’s fairly relieved therefore, when the Admiral calls for “a last toast, to bid adieu” and raises his glass, looking around the room. “To the king”, he calls and they all echo him.

“And to Miss Catherine Howard. May she stay Miss Howard only for a short while longer”, Dr. Saucer says with wolfish grin.

“Yes”, William straightens his back next to Edward, leaning forward a little bit and looking around the room until his eyes land on Edward’s. “To love!”

His eyes hold Edward’s gaze as they lift their glasses to take a sip and Edward can feel a blush creep into his traitorous cheeks. Thankfully, nobody noticed them, but when the guests are all led outside by their hosts, William brushes up close to him and murmurs: “Remember how I drank that toast, Mr. Farr.”

With a racing heart and slightly flushed cheeks, he says his goodbyes and makes his way back home with his aunt and uncle, who are luckily caught up in their own conversation, not paying much attention to him.

***

The house is silent and dark when they come home, which means Catherine and James have probably gone to bed. Edward doesn’t pay much mind to it, hurrying to his own room immediately to calm his beating heart and take off his coat.

He hears his aunts shocked voice calling for his uncle before he sees the small wooden box on his bed. He runs out into the hallway and sees his aunt is standing in Catherine’s doorway, tears streaming down her face. “What’s wrong?”, his voice is almost a shout, all kind of terrible images of what could have happened to his cousin flashing in front of his eyes. His uncle comes running up the stairs.

“Joseph! She’s gone”, Margaret sobs, the desperation in her voice making Edward fear the worst. In lieu of an answer, his uncle flings open the door with such power that it hits the wall behind it with a bang. Edward can see inside of the room and the tries to brace himself for the picture – but there’s nobody in there. Catherine’s bed is made and it looks almost as if she’d just gone outside for a moment. Until Edward spots the opened chest that normally holds her clothes and that is now half empty.

He thinks back to earlier in the evening and the way she cried when saying goodbye to him and it feels as if something inside of his mind finally clicks. And suddenly, the reality of what must have happened hits him with a crushing clarity, even before his uncle flings open James’ door as well only to find his room vacated as well.

“What does this mean?”, Margaret cries, looking terrified.

“What does it mean? James is gone as well, Margaret, gone! How could we not have seen this!”

“What -”

“What do you think, woman!”, he yells, his face red with anger. “They ran away together, what do you think that it means?!” Tears are streaming down his aunt’s face now as she sobs painfully. Edward takes a step closer to her to offer her his arm to lean on, but his uncle stops him.

“You!”, he looks as if he’s just now remembered his presence. “Did you know about this?”

“No, sir”, he replies honestly. “I didn’t know, I promise.”

“And why should I believe you?”, his uncle pushes his wife away and takes a step closer to him, towering over him. “Why should I not think that you helped them! It was you, who told us she was ill, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, but I truly -”

“And you were friendly with James, weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir, but -” His uncle silences him with a jerk of his hand that looks almost as if he’s about to hit him, but he stops himself beforehand, a pained expression on his face.

“Leave him alone, Joseph”, his aunt says, her voice still quivering. “How could he have anything to do with it. He was at the dinner with us, wasn’t he?”

The dinner, Edward thinks. Of course! James and William must have planned this together. “I’m going to ride after them”, his uncle is now pacing up and down the narrow hallway, looking frantic.

“They must have left hours ago –”, Edward dares to mention in a small voice.

“Don’t you think I know that, boy?”, his uncle bellows, his face red and angry. “What am I supposed to do?”

“There’s nothing we can do, Joseph.” Margaret’s voice sounds hollow. She’s stopped crying as well and her face is almost painfully neutral. Like the light in her eyes has just gone out.

His uncle seems to notice as well, because in a gesture of unexpected tenderness, he takes his wife into his arms and murmurs something to her that Edward doesn’t understand.

“I think it’s time we all go to bed”, he says, a little louder, and starts walking towards the bedroom, taking his weakened wife with him. “Edward”, he says, turning once more. “I want you to watch out for your aunt tonight. I’m going to ride after them. I have to.”

Edward understands the pain in his voice, even if he can’t understand his anger. So he nods and assures his uncle that he’ll be there for his aunt if she needs anything while he’s gone. Without another word, he turns around and opens the door at the end of the hall, guiding Margaret inside with a surprisingly gentle hand.

Silently, so as not to anger his uncle again, Edward turns around as well and slips into his room, carefully closing the door behind him.

The small box is still sitting on his bed. He walks over and takes it into his hands carefully, deep in thought. A letter falls out when he opens it and he picks it up, recognising Catherine’s handwriting.

_Dear Edward,_

_I’m sorry that I couldn’t say goodbye to you properly and so is James. We couldn’t tell you about our plan, not because we don’t trust you, but for your own good. My father will be furious once he finds out what has happened and it will be better for you to be left clueless than to be viewed as an accomplice._

_Please understand, that we never wanted to hurt you or anyone else. I cannot marry Mr. Mill when my heart belongs to somebody else._

_James and I are going to marry in Scotland and then make our way to Ireland, where he has some family that are eager to welcome us.  
By the time you read this letter, we will already be well on our way into our new and happy life.  
It grieves me to leave you and my family like this, but my father would have never let me refuse Mr. Mill.  
Please forgive me, Edward. We will both miss you dearly, but hopefully we will see each other again someday. _

_With love,  
Catherine _

_P.S.: I give you this box to keep me in your memory. Since I no longer have any secrets to keep, there will be no use for it to me from now on, but you might find it as useful as it is beautiful._

_The floor is especially beautiful, I’ve always thought._

Shock, sorrow and happiness all wash through him as he reads his cousin’s letter, all to be momentarily replaced by confusion at the postscript. The bottom of the box? It looks like a regular piece of wood, he thinks. Until he feels around in it with his hand, and at a push of his finger against a certain spot in its corner, a secret compartment springs open.

So this is where Catherine kept all of her secrets, he thinks, and smiles fondly at the thought of her hiding secret love letters from James in here.

And then he realises there’s something in there, a piece of paper and a small object that’s rattling against the wood as he shakes the box.

He has some trouble, trying to pull out the paper without wrinkling it, but when he finally manages, he feels like his heart might stop working as soon as he realises it’s another letter, but not from Catherine this time.

_Edward –_

_I had this picture made for you especially, to fit into your locket._

_This way, you’ll always carry me right over your heart, even when I can’t be with you._

_My dearest, Edward, take it as the declaration of my passionate, undying love for you. I can barely find the words to describe it, but I’m certain you’ll understand me._

_Helping James and Catherine on their journey to a happier life in freedom made me yearn for the world we talked about in the forest, when you were drying off._

_I wanted to ask you this there and every moment since then, and I wish I could ask you in person and with the prospect of action ever following these words, but until we live in the world we both imagined that summer’s day, or something close to it, this shall have to do ---_

_You have pierced my heart like a dagger and I will not have anyone else but you for as long as I live. I'm yours, heart and soul. Will you be mine forever?  
_

_Since marriage isn’t actually possible, please take this ring as a substitute for my hand. I found it very fitting, my love._

_I will stay yours forever,_

_William_

Tears are already clouding Edward’s vision as he looks down at the perfectly round miniature picture that shows William’s handsome features looking back at him. With shaky hands, he takes his locket from his bedside table and carefully places the picture inside of it.

His hands still shake when he pulls out the ring. It’s a silver ring with a stone shaped like a rose on top of it and Edward almost lets out a shaky sob at the sight. He remembers William’s voice, so clearly it almost feels as if he’s in the room with him. _My love is like a red, red rose._

He slides the ring on his finger, feeling overwhelmed with love. It fits him perfectly. As if it was meant to sit there on his ring finger, never to be taken off again.

His vision blurs with even more tears as he looks at his hand with the ring on it, feeling like his heart might burst with love.

***

Harry opens his eyes, a veil of tears clouding his vision. He’s standing in his studio and he half expects to see the rose ring on his finger that felt so _right_ there, but of course it’s gone, along with everything else, Catherine’s box, her letter. And the picture.

A thought pops into his mind and he shakes himself out of his trance, stumbling over to the bedroom. Why did he never think of this before? He grabs the locket and feels for the clasp. It’s tiny and hard to move, but eventually it snaps and the locket opens.

It’s still in there, looking almost exactly the same.

William’s familiar face is looking back at him and Harry’s heart suddenly fills with so much love and sorrow, he actually feels a stabbing pain in his chest.

“Oh, William”, he whispers, more and more tears spilling from his eyes now. “I’m still yours forever.”


	12. Chapter 12

  
“What happened to them?”, Harry asks Mrs. Hutcherson the next day. “Catherine and James, do you know what happened to them after they ran away?”

He felt terrible this morning after crying himself to sleep the night before and he didn’t know who else to talk to, so he marched himself to the manor first thing in the morning, where Mrs. Hutcherson made him a hearty breakfast and watched him eat while he told her everything that happened yesterday.

“Well, what do _you_ think happened with them?”, Mrs. Hutcherson smiles at him across the table.

“I don’t know”, Harry shrugs, chewing on his bottom lip. “I _want_ to believe that they made it. You know, lived happily ever after and all that. Like a fairytale.”

“Why don’t you?”

Harry sighs. “I don’t know. Life’s almost never like a fairytale. You really won’t tell me?”

“I really won’t”, she lets out a soft little laugh and then takes his hand on the table. “You’ll have to wait and see how it all plays out.”

“I know you always say that I need to be patient but… I just wish I knew _something_ at least. Do you know what happened to the ring that William gave Edward?”

Mrs. Hutcherson smiles, but doesn’t take his bait. “Would you like some more tea, dear?”

“No, thank you”, Harry puts a hand on his full stomach.

“You really do have to be patient, dear”, Mrs. Hutcherson tells him with a serene smile. “Everything will makes sense in time. You can’t hurry fate.”

Harry groans with frustration and hides his face in his hands, but Mrs. Hutcherson gently takes one of his hands away so she can look at him.

“Listen dear, why don’t you take a short break from everything? Get out of the house and away from everything for a week or two? I think that’ll do you good.”

“I can’t –”, Harry starts, but Mrs. Hutcherson interrupts him with a gentle squeeze of his hand.

“You won’t miss anything, dear, I promise.”

Before Harry can ask how she knows this, the door to the kitchen opens and Niall bursts into the room, looking excited.

“Ah, there you are Harry”, he says, greeting his aunt with a rushed smile. “Sorry to interrupt, but I really need Harry’s help.” His cheeks are brightened and he looks like he’s in a hurry.

“What’s up?”, Harry asks.

“I need you to help me pick an outfit for tonight.” Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise. That’s not what he was expecting.

“Oh, what’s happening tonight?”, Mrs. Hutcherson smiles at her nephew, who grins back widely.

“None of your business. I just have to borrow Harry here for a little bit. Or did I actually interrupt anything important?”

“Nothing that can’t wait a little”, his aunt waves him off. “Go on, then. Help my nephew look his best for his mystery night.”

***

“Now would you look at that”, Niall says when they enter his apartment, pointing to Louis who’s laying on his back on the kitchen floor, his feet crossed, one arm under his head and his hand resting on his stomach where his shirt has ridden up a little. He seems to be asleep. “That’s the thing with handymen these days, you let them out of your side for a moment and they fall asleep.”

He looks different asleep, Harry thinks. The sharp edges of his cheekbones seem softer somehow and there’s a blissful look on his face that makes him look younger. The skin on his stomach that’s visible looks golden in the sunlight streaming in through the window and Harry wonders for a moment, if Louis works shirtless during the summer.

He shakes his head to get the image out of his traitorous brain, that somehow immediately supplies another image of another man, of a lean, naked body stretching out on a four-poster bed in a blue room. It’s ridiculous to feel like he’s cheating on William in some way – given the fact that he’s been dead for over a hundred years.

That’s when Louis opens one eye to look at the two men standing over him. “I’m not sleeping”, he murmurs softly. “I’m just resting my eyes.”

“Sure, sure”, Niall grins. “And here I was thinking you were supposed to be repairing my sink.”

Louis chuckles and salutes Niall mockingly, still laying down. “I’ll get right back to it, sir, yes sir!”

“I didn’t know you were also a plumber”, Harry jokes.

“I’m not. But I know my way around”, Louis grins, finally sitting up. “What are you two up to?”

“Harry is going to help me pick an outfit”, Niall says, mimicking an exaggerated hair flip.

“I already told you what I think you should wear”, Louis shrugs. “That blue button up really brings out your eyes.”

“Yes, but I want someone who’s a little more… you know”, Niall gestures around helplessly, looking at their blank faces. “Well, Harry is always dressed really well, which means he knows something about fashion and he’s good with colours and, just in general, you know…”

“Gay?”, Harry supplies.

“Now, that’s what _you_ said.”

“That’s a bit bloody offensive, Niall”, Louis says, frowning. “Are you implying I don’t dress well?!”

Harry lets out a laugh. “Alright then, Nialler. Come on, let’s get you something to wear. Because, as the resident homosexual, I feel like it’s my duty to help sad straight men with no fashion sense”, he says with a wink in Louis’ direction, pushing Niall towards his bedroom.

“That’s not what I _meant_ ”, Niall protests, but it gets drowned by Harry’s and Louis’ laughter.

Half an hour later Harry has to agree with Louis. “Wear the blue one, it looks great on you”, he advises Niall. “And it fits perfectly with the chequered trousers that make your ass look great!”

“Do they?”, Niall looks flattered and flaunts said ass, only covered in briefs, into his full length mirror.

“God, please stop that”, Harry laughs, covering his eyes. “What do you need to look this good for anyway?”

“I may have a date”, Niall admits, looking smug about it. “And we’re going to some posh restaurant in London.”

“You’re driving down to London just for dinner?”

“Oh no, for the weekend”, Niall shrugs and steps back into his normal jeans.

“You have a _weekend_ date?”, Harry asks, impressed. “Do I know them?”

“Oh, shit”, Niall says with a look at his phone. “It’s getting late! I promised Liam he could take another break before I have to leave.” He slides on some socks and looks at Harry. “Do you want to come down with me or stay here?”

“I think I’m going to stay”, Harry says, grinning. “Someone needs to have an eye on your plumber, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep again.”

“Good point”, Niall grins back at him. “Call me once the water is up to your knees.”

Louis seems to be doing just fine, though, as far as Harry can tell when he sits down on the ground next to him to watch him work.

Like always, the calming aura of his presence wraps Harry up like a comforting blanket and whatever residue anxiety there might have still been floating around in his brain after yesterday’s events immediately falls off of him.

Almost wistfully, Harry thinks about the fact that Niall asked him for clothing advice because of his gay artist expertise while Louis was in his apartment already. He wonders if that simply means that Louis is painfully straight or if Niall just doesn’t trust his fashion sense. Harry actually likes the way Louis dresses – practical, but not unappealing in his wool jumpers, plaid flannel shirts and the black baseball cap that seems just as much part of Louis as his heavy work boots.

“I picked the blue shirt by the way”, he informs him.

“Good lad”, Louis smiles. “I told him all along that there’s no real question. He looks great in that shirt. And he can pair it what that fancy pair of pants –”

“The chequered ones? That’s exactly what I said.”

“Yes, those! They make him look like he’s actually got an ass”, Louis jokes and they both laugh.

“You do look tired, though”, Harry says once their laughter has died down and Louis has returned to his work under the sink.

“Tss, you’re one to talk”, Louis glances at him. “Have you looked into the mirror lately? You look like you could use a holiday.”

“I’m actually going on one”, Harry shrugs.

“Oh. Where are you headed?”

“Well, not a real holiday. But I’m going to go visit my parents for a week or so. Haven’t really see them in a while.”

“That sounds nice”, Louis smiles. “I remember Gemma talking about going for a visit as well. She said your mum really misses you.”

“Not as much as I miss her”, Harry laughs. “God, that sounds a bit lame.”

“No, not lame at all. I’m a proud mama’s boy myself!”, Louis sits up, grinning at him. “Alright, all done here. Shall we go see how Niall is doing?”

***

Harry ends up staying in Holmes Chapel for ten days. It’s always nice, being home with his mum and stepdad and letting them take care of him for a while. He’s got some friends from school who still live there and he meets up with them for a few evenings at the pub, but while it’s nice to catch up, it leaves him feeling more disconnected from them than before, realising how vastly different their lives are now.

It doesn’t help that the whole time feels like the calm before a storm. There’s this sort of looming feeling of something big coming that’s hanging over his head like a cloud.

He’s equal parts anxious and excited when he makes his way back to Bilbury. What he doesn’t expect, though, is the feeling of a weight dropping off of his shoulders, like he’s breathing fresh air for the first time in a while, when he comes back.

He’s surprised at how quickly this little village and its inhabitants became the centre of his universe and he’s basking in the feeling of being _home_ when he’s sitting at the pub that evening with Zayn by his side and Liam behind the counter.

“What do you reckon, how badly is Liverpool going to kick Sheffield’s ass on Saturday?”, Liam leans over the counter.

“I think Sheffield’s going to pull through with a surprise goal”, Zayn grins at Liam’s raised eyebrows.

“Wanna bet on that?” They stare at each other for a moment and then Zayn extends his hand.

“10 quid”, he says, shaking Liam’s hand firmly.

“Wow, that’s how far it’s come in my absence?”, Harry interrupts their intense stare down. “Alcohol and gambling?”

“We got bored. We had nobody to play with us”, Zayn pouts. “Louis super busy this week – again. And Niall is – where _is_ Niall?”

“Don’t ask me”, Liam immediately lifts both of his hands, looking a little too innocent. “I had to basically take an oath not to tell anyone, sorry boys.”

“Well, Niall is gone on a mystery mission once more”, Zayn shrugs. “You came back just in time to see me off, you know”, he takes a sip of his beer. “I’m leaving for France tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?”, Harry asks, genuinely surprised. He somehow didn’t even register that it’s almost September already.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it”, Zayn jokes and claps his back jovially.

They call it a night a few hours and pints later and after hugging Liam goodbye, Zayn walks Harry home. The air is still warm, but there’s a breeze that brings with it the smells of a late August evening and the wistful feeling that summer is almost over for another year.

“We’re okay, right?”, Harry asks when they’re standing in front of his backdoor. “I mean, with everything that happened…?”

“Yes, of course”, Zayn steps closer and squeezes Harry’s arm gently. “I mean, listen. It’s all a bit crazy and everything, but hey. I employ a witch as my housekeeper so maybe I should have seen this coming.”

“Maybe”, Harry laughs, relief washing over him. “I was kind of scared you might secretly think I’m a total freak or something.”

“Oh, shut up. I would never think that, H. I’m really glad you moved here, you know. I mean, come on, you’re the perfect addition to our little foursome!” Harry feels himself blush and preen under the compliment.

“I’m sorry I can’t… help you or anything with, you know, everything that’s going on with you…”, Zayn says softly.

“Oh, don’t worry about it”, Harry assures him. “I think nobody can. I need to figure it out by myself, I reckon. It’s my fate after all, or at least that’s what Mrs. Hutcherson tells me.”

Zayn chuckles. “Well, Freda always knows best. You’re in better hands with her, anyway.”

They share a smile and when they hug goodbye it feels like a weight has been lifted off of Harry’s shoulders. He watches Zayn walk across the fields to the manor.

The oak tree seems to be looking back at him, standing there alone, the patch of grass under it empty with no rider in sight.  
Harry sighs and turns around to enter the house.

He’ll have to wait for his fate to find him in its own time.

***

September starts with a short heat wave, like the world isn’t quite ready to let summer go just yet, clinging on to it with long, hot days filled with sunshine.

It’s apple picking season, which means Louis spends most of his days working in his orchard, but it also means that every once in a while, he’ll swing by the pub with a pitcher of freshly pressed apple juice for Harry, Niall and Liam, who spend most of their afternoons lounging in the sun in the backyard.

Niall still disappears regularly and both him and Liam keep their mouths shut about his whereabouts. After a while, Harry is convinced that Niall is either dating a married woman or an international pop star, because they are the only two scenarios he can think of that would warrant this type of secrecy.

Niall just gives him a smug grin when he tells him as much. “Maybe so”, he shrugs and then changes the topic.

But then again, Harry still hasn’t told anyone but Zayn about his adventures in the past, so he guesses they all have their secrets.

Every once in a while he still gets the looming feeling of something big waiting just around the corner for him, but it’s hard to feel gloomy or anxious when he’s spending most of his time with his friends, basking in the glory of the last days of summer.

Between this, his work and his regularly scheduled, albeit usually short, visits to the past, the month of September seems to run through his fingers like sand and before he knows it, it’s almost the end of the month and fate hasn’t caught up with him yet.

***

The morning of the 28 th  of September starts off like any other morning. The weather is colder now, finally a first sign of summer making way for autumn, and it keeps Harry inside. He doesn’t mind though, deciding that it’s finally time to clear out the dining room, to make way for its inevitable renovation.

Somehow during the months of his living here, the dining room became a bit of mess. He never really had much use for it, opting to eat in the kitchen every day anyway and knowing he’s going to have to redo the walls at some point, Harry sort of neglected the room altogether, using it as a sort of storage area. The room needs a deep clean before he can even think about getting started on the walls.

The dizziness starts in the early afternoon and at first Harry thinks it’s simply because he hasn’t eaten enough today, but then the ringing in his ears starts getting louder and louder until his hands blur in front of his eyes.

When his vision clears again, he goes back to scrubbing the floor boards like his aunt asked him to, his knees already hurting from the hard surface he’s crawling on.

He sits back on his heels and strokes back a stray strand of hair, when he hears his uncle and Evan, the new farm hand, enter the kitchen next door. After trying and failing to teach Edward all the necessary farm work, his uncle finally decided to hire another farm hand. Evan started working for him only a week ago, but the week has been a relief for Edward. He’d hated working with his uncle – he has no natural talent for handy work and he’s never been good at learning under emotional pressure.

Now he can finally return to helping his aunt with the household, filling in for Catherine. It’s been very quiet here since James and Catherine left. His aunt and uncle don’t talk much, both of them clearly distressed by their daughter’s disappearance, but Edward can tell that the longer it lasts, the more his uncle’s distress morphs into thinly veiled anger.

Margaret seems like she’s lost her spirit completely. Quiet sadness seems to seep out of her and her eyes have become strangely blank. It pains Edward to see her like this, knowing there is nothing he can do to ease her pain.

He understands why Catherine did what she did, because he knows that if he had the chance to leave everything and everyone behind for a life in freedom with William, he would take it on the spot, but he can’t help but feel compassion for her grieving mother.

“It has been a month”, he can her his uncle’s voice in the kitchen, sounding upset. “No trace of them, this entire time. I can’t believe it. They must have had help, otherwise they never would have made it this far…”, his voice grows louder and louder and Edward can tell he’s talking himself into more of a rage. “And god help me, if Edward had anything to do with it -”

He holds his breath, trying to listen more intently, but he can’t understand what his aunt is saying.

“Where is the boy, anyway?”, uncle’s louder voice asks, and only a moment later, the door to the dining room flies open and his uncle towering over Edward who is crouching on the floor frozen mid-movement, a wet cleaning rag in his hand.

“Ah, there you are”, his uncle says roughly. “Listen, I’ll ask you this one more time –”

He doesn’t get to ask his question, though, because a loud shout from outside the window interrupts him. “Mr. Howard! Come quick!”, Evan is running towards the house looking distraught. He stops at the open window, panting. “The pigs have escaped! I was trying to herd them to the other enclosure like you said, but… they got away from me…”

“Oh, for god’s sake”, Joseph growls and storms out of the room again. As soon as the backdoor closes with a bang, another, much smaller figure, enters the dining room.

His aunt is looking at him with sad but pleading eyes. “Do you know?”, her voice is quiet, although Edward is sure that her husband and Evan, who can be heard shouting at the pigs, won’t hear a word. “Do you know where she went?”

Edward thinks about Catherine’s letter and her trust in his silence. And then he takes in the pained expression on his aunt’s face and he makes a decision. He doesn’t have it in him to watch her hurting like this, to keep her in uncertainty when he at least knows what her daughter was planning to do. “She left me a letter”, he says in a hushed voice, hoping that his cousin may forgive him for this. “They were planning to marry in Scotland and then travel to Ireland to stay with James’ family. I no nothing else.”

Something akin to relief seems to wash over Margaret’s features for a second. “Do you think she’s happy?”

Edward looks at her for a moment. “I believe so”, he says slowly. “Although I’m sure she misses you. I imagine she saw no other way –”, he cuts off, unsure what else there is to say. He doesn’t have the words to console a mother’s broken heart.

Tears well up in his aunt’s eyes, but she nods resolutely. “Thank you for telling me, Edward. I’m sure my daughter swore you to secrecy, but I appreciate your honesty.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more”, Edward says sincerely.

“You can”, her smile is thin-lipped and determined. “Do you still have the letter?” He nods. “Hide it. I don’t want my husband to find it. He’ll only go after her and nothing good will come off that. I want you to hide the letter until we’ve all had time to settle. But please –”, her eyes are watery again. “Please don’t destroy it. When this is all over, I would like to have it to remind me that she followed her heart.”

Edward nods again and gets to his feet. “I’ll find a good hiding place, I promise.”

“Thank you, Edward.” She squeezes his hands shortly. “Now make haste! I don’t want your uncle to see you.”

Edward rushes to his room where he pulls Catherine’s wooden box with her letter and William’s gifts out from under the bed. He holds it for a moment, his mind racing. Where can he hide this? His mind goes to the dovecote, but it’s too risky. The box is too big to hide it in one of the nooks –

And then it clicks.

Of course! He has a key to the manor. William will be able to help him.

He makes sure that everything is inside of the box, deciding to hide William’s gifts as well, just to be sure. He doesn’t want his uncle to snoop around his room and find out about the true nature of their relationship.

On a whim, he decides to keep the rose ring. It shows no direct connection to William and Edward can’t bring himself to part with it. His heart already hurts as he carefully tucks the locket into the secret compartment, closing it firmly. It’s only temporary, he reassures himself.

***

He’s desperately praying that the Admiral isn’t home as he sneaks into the courtyard and through the door to the servant’s wing. Nobody sees him coming in downstairs and he’s almost at the door to William’s room – not even sure if he’s going to find him in there at this hour – when he hears footsteps. There’s nowhere to hide and he’s already trying to come up with some sort of excuse that he could give, should they belong to the Admiral, his blood rushing loudly in his ears, when a young man-servant rounds the corner.

He’s already seen him during some of his more official visits at the manor and it’s clear that the other man recognises him as well. Edward is just about to plead for his discretion, when a warm smile appears on the shocked face.

“Mr. Farr, how lovely to see you here”, he says as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “I’m afraid that Admiral Morland is not home today”, he says with a meaningful glance and Edward lets out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. He has to fight the impulse to hug the man.

“Thank you”, he says, full of gratitude.

“You’ll find Captain Morland downstairs, in the library, sir”, the servant replies with a wink.

He does and when William lifts his head from where he was leaning on one of the tables, studying a letter, he forgets all the panic and anxiety and for a moment it seems like there’s nothing else in the world, no urgency, just them and their eyes meeting across the room.

A smile spreads over William’s face. “Edward”, he says, sounding pleasantly surprised. “What a nice surprise.”

Edward can’t help but smile back at him, no matter the circumstances of his visit. “One of your servants saw me come in”, his voice comes out in a rush.

“Who?”, William asks, stepping close and, sensing his distress, reaching out to place a warm, calming hand on his back.

“I don’t know his name. He has blonde, sort of curly hair.”

“Oh, that’s Tommy. It’s fine, he won’t say anything!”, William’s hand draws small circles on his back and somehow his nerves have almost disappeared thanks to his presence and his touch.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure”, William says reassuringly. “Don’t worry.” And then he turns back to the table, gesturing to the letter he was studying before Edward came in. “You have impeccable timing, actually. I’ve just received a letter from James. They are married and they have made it to his family’s estate in Ireland. He seems very happy and –”

“It was you?”, Edward interrupts him, his mind suddenly racing again. “You helped them get away?”

A sly smile appears on William’s face. “I gave them horses and a bit of money, yes.”

“God, of course. Why didn’t I see it earlier?”, Edward slaps a hand against his forehead.

“Well, you were pretty caught up in the whole matter. Sometimes it’s hard to see clearly when you’re in the middle of things.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I couldn’t not. They love each other”, William’s voice is firm and his eyes seem to heat up with his words. “I couldn’t watch them be separated just because society wouldn’t think their match proper. I didn’t want them to be like –”, he cuts himself off, but Edward knows exactly what he was going to say.

“Like us.” His voice is merely a whisper, his throat rough with emotion.

“My father won’t be home until tomorrow”, William seizes Edward’s arm with sudden urgency, pulling him close. “Come over tonight?”

Edward’s breath hitches at their close proximity and his mind goes a bit fuzzy, his gaze narrowing in on William’s plush lips. He forces his eyes away from them and is immediately faced with the heated expression in William’s captivating eyes. “Yes”, is all he can get out. He doesn’t even think twice about it. “Of course.”

“Good”, William’s lips curve into a smile. “Now, did you come over just to see me, or…?”

“No, I have to ask you a favour.” He holds out the small wooden box. “Can I hide this with you? It’s Catherine’s and I don’t want my uncle to find it in my room. He already suspects I have something to do with it all…” He hesitates for a moment. “I had to put your letter and the locket in as well. I don’t want my uncle to find them. I’m so sorry.”

He feels terrible giving them away, but William takes the box from him with a reassuring smile. “I will keep them safe for you, Edward. You’ll get them back in the future, when it’s safe again. I promise.” And then he pulls Edward in for a kiss that makes his knees go weak and all bad things disappear from his mind for the moment.

They are both smiling when they break apart again. “I have to ride to Market Weighton, but I’ll wait for you under the big oak tree on my way back, so you know when to come over, alright?”

“Yes”, Edward replies a little breathlessly. “I will wait for you at my window”, he says in a dramatic tone with a wink.

It feels like there’s a million imaginary eyes watching him as he runs across the field back to the house and climbs back in through the dining room window. He prays that his uncle didn’t see him and resumes his work from earlier.

It’s clear that nobody saw him when his uncle comes back in from the barn with Evan later, too preoccupied with lecturing his new farm hand on being more careful to remember his anger from earlier. Margaret and Edward share a meaningful look over dinner and Edward is happy to see a tiny smile play at her lips for just a second. He’s made the right decision in telling her. This way she might be able to heal from this someday.

The night finally engulfs the fields behind the house in a comforting blanket of darkness and shortly afterwards, Edward, who’s sitting by the window in the complete dark to see better, playing with the rose ring on his finger, sees a shadow move under the big oak tree. He narrows his eyes and then the clouds move and moonlight shines onto the dark figure of a tall man on a grey horse, waiting patiently under the tree.

His heart skips a beat at the sight and an involuntary smile spreads across his face. Silently so as to not disturb his aunt and uncle in the sitting room, he sneaks downstairs and through the kitchen.

Edward closes the backdoor behind himself as silently as possible and then he runs across the field for the third time that day, hoping that nobody sees him. William is smiling down at him when he finally reaches him. “Care for a ride, Mr. Farr?”, his eyes, illuminated by the moonlight, are the most beautiful thing Edward has ever seen.

“I’d love one, _mylord_ ”, he replies in the same joking tone and then lets himself be pulled up onto Navarre’s back with surprising ease.

They leave Navarre at the stables and make their way to the house on foot, silently walking besides each other in the moonlight, their hands brushing against each other. Neither of them speaks before they’ve reached William’s room. It’s a charged silence, filled with all of the things they don’t need to say, their love for each other and the anticipation of what’s about to happen.

“God, I’ve missed you”, William whispers when they are finally completely alone, the bedroom door shutting them out from the rest of the world. “It’s only been a few hours, but all I could think about was you and how much I want to be back here with you.”

“I know.” Edward’s voice sounds rough.

“It’s been too long since we were alone like this…”, William’s voice trails off as he takes Edward’s hands in his own and spots the ring that sits proudly on his left hand.

William looks up at him with wide eyes. “You’re wearing my ring.”

“Of course I am”, Edward smiles, amused by William’s surprise. “That’s what you’re supposed to do with engagement rings, isn’t it?”  
William’s mouth falls open.

“Does that mean you... accept?”

Edward actually lets out a laugh at that, but his expression quickly turns serious again. “Did you ever think I wouldn’t?”

“I wasn’t sure”, William looks a little pained. “I know I can’t offer you marriage and I didn’t know if you –”

“I love you”, Edward interrupts him. “Now and forever. That’s all that matters.”

William surges forward, kissing him with such a raw intensity that it’s almost painful. “I love you too, Edward Farr”, he says between kisses, holding his face in his hands. “You are mine, now and forever.”

“I’m yours. And you are mine”, Edward says simply.

Their kiss turns more heated afterwards, both of them clinging to each other desperately like they are drowning. Finally, William pulls away, a well-known humorous glint in his eyes. “Are you ready to consummate the marriage, then?”

“Always”, Edward replies but his laugh gets stuck in his throat when William pushes him towards the bed and starts unbuttoning his vest.

They don’t talk, or laugh, much more after that. They way William makes love to him is even more intense than Edward remembers it and afterwards his heart feels so full he thinks it might burst out of his ribcage.

They lay there, cuddling and feeling each others warmth and William tells him about James’ letter in a soft voice. It makes Edward’s heart grow even fonder, hearing about James’ and Catherine’s happiness.

It’s a bittersweet happiness, though, knowing that they themselves are most likely destined for a less happy ending. William seems to be thinking something similar, sighing deeply when he’s finished talking and stroking Edward’s hair idly for a while, before he says: “I wish I could love you in a better world, Edward Farr.”

Before Edward can reply, they hear a series of noises that make both of them sit up with horror.  
First, the unmistakable sounds of a horse arriving in the front of the house and then the hustle and bustle of a few servants hurrying out of their beds and to the front door.

“That must be my father”, William whispers, looking scared. And then suddenly, with true terror in his eyes, he jumps out of bed. “The box! My letter… I left it on the table in the entrance hall!”

Both of them scramble to their feet and into their clothes in a panic-fuelled frenzy. “Stay here”, William whispers. “I will run down, maybe he won’t see the letter, or maybe…”, he doesn’t finish the sentence, already dashing to the door.  
Alone in the room, the quiet of the house seems suffocating suddenly, all Edward can hear is his own blood rushing loudly in his ears and his erratic heartbeat. He paces around the room, but then stills, trying to listen for any noise coming from downstairs, trying to picture what’s happening.

A loud crashing sound, almost like a gunshot, makes him jump and almost has him running to the door. He thinks twice about it, though, fearing that he’ll only make matters worse by appearing in front of the Admiral. Faintly, he can hear voices shouting words that he can’t understand.

It’s a sickening feeling, being trapped inside the room, not knowing what’s happening to William. But then the voices are getting louder and at first he fears they might be coming closer to the door, until he realises that they’ve moved outside to the courtyard beneath the window.

He rushes forward, almost pressing his face to the glass, longing to see what’s going on. When he does, his heart almost stops in terror. The Admiral is dragging William’s body and for a short, horrible moment, Edward thinks he might be dead.

 _No, no, no, no_ , he thinks, desperately. _He can’t be dead. Please!_ But then he sees that William is still moving his feet weakly. He might be hurt, but he’s definitely alive.

The Admiral is still yelling something, but Edward can’t understand the words. He doesn’t have to. It’s clear that he found the letter, that they have been found out.

Clouds are blocking the moon again and Edward can only see the blurred shapes of the Admiral dropping William in the middle of the courtyard carelessly like a sack of potatoes. He’s bending down now, leaning close to William’s face, maybe to say something Edward can’t understand from up here, or maybe to check for a pulse. Finally he turns around and walks back towards the house.

 _Get up, please! Please, get up, please don’t be dead_ , he keeps repeating over and over again, watching the small looking shadow that is William and desperately wishing he could run out there to help him.

Finally, after a few excruciating minutes that felt like weeks, the shadow stirs. _Thank god_ , Edward thinks, only to almost cry out in pain, when the clouds shift again and the moon illuminates William’s white shirt and he can see the blood all over it. _No!_

Suddenly, the door behind Edward opens and for the first time tonight, he fears for his _own_ life as he whips around, expecting to see the Admiral. Once again, he’s relieved to see that it’s the curly haired servant from earlier. Tommy.

“Mr. Farr”, he whispers. “Don’t be afraid, it’s just me. We need to get out of here!”

“William!”, he whispers back but it comes out like a sob. “He’s hurt. We need to help him!”

“Shhh, I’ll take you to him. But we need to be quiet”, Tommy grabs his arm reassuringly. “Follow me.”

As quietly as possible, they make their way through the dark corridors of the manor, and Edward, too overwhelmed with fear and sadness, lets Tommy lead him almost blindly. He’s not sure how they make it out of the house undetected, but suddenly, he finds himself in the now abandoned courtyard and pushed through the door that he still has the key to.

“Where are you we going?”, he asks, once they are on the small pathway behind the manor. “What about William?”

“We’re going to the church. That’s where they took William”, Tommy explains in a hushed voice. Edward doesn’t ask who _they_ are, his mind only focussed on William and the blood that had been all over his shirt.

The short walk seems to take forever but when they finally reach the churchyard, Edward finally regains his energy, pushing past Tommy and running the last steps to the church door.

***

William is standing upright in front of the altar, beaten up and bloody, but looking more alive and well than Edward anticipated. “William”, it comes out like a sob and he takes a few hasty steps until he finally reaches him and crushes him in a fierce embrace. William groans at the impact, but when Edward tries to pull back, terrified he might have hurt him, William only pulls him closer.

Neither of them speaks for a while as they cling to each other in a frantic, hopeless embrace. With a painful clarity that feels like it might break his heart in two, Edward feels like this is the last time they are going to see each other. William seems to feel the same way, because neither of them seems willing to let go of the other, both of them holding tight.

“Are you in pain?”, Edward finally asks and pulls away just a bit, only enough to be able to see William’s bloody face. His voice sounds shaky and he didn’t realise there were tears streaming down his face until William reaches out to wipe them away.

“Not badly, I promise”, he smiles and his eyes are still so beautiful, even underneath all the blood and the bruises on his face. “The blood is mostly from my nose”, he shrugs, looking down at his shirt. “He didn’t get me as badly as he wanted to.”

Edward nods and lets out a relieved sob. “Don’t cry for me”, William whispers in a soft voice.

“But you have to leave.” It’s not a question. They both know it to be true. He can’t stay here, otherwise his father might finish what he started. Or worse, he might alert the law and that would mean prison for William if not worse. There’s no other way but to run.

“I _will_ see you again, Edward Farr. I promise. And if I have to wait a whole lifetime for it, we will meet again.”

“How can you be so sure?”, Edward looks at him desperately.

William’s eyes sparkle with tender, affectionate warmth. “I will make sure of it, believe me.”

“Can’t I come with you?”

William pulls him closer and kisses him softly, instead of a reply. They both know it’s impossible. It will be hard enough for William alone to live a life in hiding from his father, it would be a hopeless matter if they attempted it together. Despite that, there’s not a lot of places in the world, where two men can make a life together freely. They would be sent to the tower if they were ever found out publicly.

“I don’t want to lose you”, Edward sobs, when their lips part for a moment.

“And fare thee well, my only love! And fare thee well awhile! And I will come again, my love, though it were ten thousand mile”, William whispers against his lips, stroking his tear stained cheek gently. “I will find you. When the world is more to our liking, I will come and find you, no matter how long it will take. Even if it’s in a different lifetime, our souls and hearts will find each other.”

Edward pulls back a little to look at him. He’s stopped crying now and his voice is almost firm again when he speaks again. "How will I find you? In a different lifetime, how will I know it is you?”

William smiles at him and takes his hand, the one with the ring, pressing it to his chest, where the locket would have been, right over his heart.

“It’s easy”, he smiles. “You just have to look in here.”

“You mean I should look with my heart, not my eyes?”

“Not just your heart. With your soul. We are two halves of a whole, Edward. Our souls will find each other again, I promise.”

Edward wants this moment to last forever, because he knows that once it passes, his life will never be the same. He looks at William’s face, his beautiful eyes, that are looking back at him with an intensity that feels like he’s trying to memorize his every feature. There is so many emotions running through him in this moment it’s almost impossible to tell exactly what he’s feeling, pain, love and sorrow all fighting in his chest.  
But then the moment passes, he can tell by the sad smile that tugs at William’ mouth, and all inner conflict falls off of him until only love remains, agonizing, all-encompassing, overwhelming love that radiates through his entire body.

“I love you”, he says and his voice is steady this time.

“And I love you, Edward”, William replies with a smile. “Always and forever, my sweet, sweet rose.”  
And then their lips meet in a last, helpless kiss. Edward can taste the salt on his lips and the rusty taste of blood on William’s. It’s a desperate kiss, a farewell kiss, filled with heartache and sorrow and a blind, silent promise.

When it ends, neither of them are willing to let go. They just stand there, breathing each other in, not ready to let the moment pass.

“Sir”, an apprehensive voice interrupts them. Tommy is standing in the doorway. “We have brought you a horse.”

“Thank you, Tommy”, William smiles at him, before turning back to Edward. “Look for me with your soul”, William says once more, pressing their faces together.

And then his hands let go of Edward, and it feels like the absence of his touch leaves hot, painful burn marks on his skin.

“I must go. I _have_ to be gone by the time the sun comes up.” Edward nods, choking on words that never come. There are no words in the universe that could describe everything he wants to say to William in this moment.

They share another long look until a soft, sad smile appears on William’s pained face. They don’t need words to know that the pain that’s throbbing in each of their hearts binds them together.

And then, after one last, teary eyed smile, William turns around and walks towards the door, leaving Edward alone in the church.

He wants to follow him, to watch him ride away, he wants to look at him as long as possible, but he can’t move and he feels a heavy weight pressing down on his chest, making it almost impossible to breathe.

The sound of hushed voices outside reaches his ears through a painful ringing sound that’s slowly growing louder and louder and then he hears the distinct sound of hooves galloping away.

The silence that follows is even more painful and Edward feels a sharp stabbing pain ripping through his chest. A single sob escapes his lungs and he feels like he might faint. Slowly, he sits down in one of the pews, falling onto his knees like in prayer, and there he remains, silently sobbing, letting the cold darkness swallow him whole.

***

He has no idea how long he lays there. Time seems to pass him by, hundreds of years buzz around him, but he stays there, on his knees, his head buried in his hands.

He can’t move, can’t lift his head to see the world around him quite yet, because William is gone and he’s not ready to face the world without him. The whole weight of this long lost love for a man that’s not only gone, but has been dead for a long time, crashes down on him and he feels like he’s slowly sinking underwater, deeper and deeper, unable to save himself.

“Harry.” The voice, coming from a pew somewhere behind him, startles him enough to raise his head from his folded hands with some difficulty.

“Harry”, Mrs. Hutcherson repeats softly but not without authority. “It’s time for us to go.” He finally lifts his head fully and turns around to face her. “Sunday service is going to start in less than an hour, my dear”, she explains, getting up from her pew and walking towards him to help him stand. It’s almost comical, how the much smaller woman holds him up with surprising strength, leading him out of the church.

“Did he make it?”, Harry asks, his voice sounding hoarse. Mrs. Hutcherson seems to think about the question for a moment, before replying with a firm nod.

“William lived, yes.”, she says.

“Where did he go?” Harry blinks at the bright sunlight blinding him when they step outside into the churchyard.

“He went to France and lived in Paris for the rest of his life. He never married.”

“But they never met again, did they?” It’s not really a question. Harry already knows the answer, deep down.

Mrs. Hutcherson stops walking and looks at him with so much compassion in her eyes, it almost makes Harry cry again. “No, dear. They never got to see each other again.”  
Of course they didn’t. It’s why all of this is happening, after all, Harry thinks. William and Edward are ready to find each other again, in this lifetime. In a better, more more accepting world. If he only knew where to look.

Harry suddenly remembers something. “What happened to the ring?”

“Which ring?”

“The rose ring. William gave it to me… To Edward, I mean. As a sort of engagement ring.”

“Oh, that one. Come on, I’ll show you where it is”, she says with a soft smile, taking his arm and leading him down one of the narrow paths of the church yard. Harry breathes in the fresh, cold morning air. It’s a beautiful, clear morning, the birds are singing and he can hear doves cooing somewhere in the trees by the cemetery wall.

Mrs. Hutcherson stops suddenly and says: “Here we are, dear.” They are standing by Edward Farr’s grave. “He always wore it, for the rest of his life. It meant so much to him that they decided to bury him with it”, Mrs. Hutcherson explains with a soft voice.

“Who did?”, Harry asks, confused.

“I think it’s time for a strong cup of tea, don’t you?”, Mrs. Hutcherson smiles. “I’ll tell you more, I promise, but we should get you warmed up first.”

Harry follows her mechanically. He’s too numb to do anything else but let her walk him back to the manor, where she gently settles him in one of the kitchen chairs before brewing a pot of tea for both of them.

“You said ‘they’ decided to bury him with the ring”, Harry repeats after finishing his first cup. “Who did you mean?”

Mrs. Hutcherson places her cup on the table carefully and examines him with one of her long looks. “Will O’Neill and his wife, Annie.”

Harry frowns, wondering why the name rings a bell. “O’Neill… wait. James and Catherine had a son?”

Mrs. Hutcherson smiles. “More than one. They were blessed with five children, two boys and three girls.”

Harry smiles for the first time all morning, a small glimmer of hope and happiness returning into his heart. “Did they come back to Bilbury?”

“Only to visit. They were very happy running a farm in Ireland.”

“But then, how…?”

“Their first son, William, shared a particular bond with his cousin Edward. He spent many months here in Bilbury, visiting, and eventually moved here entirely. His daughter Mary was the last Howard relation to own the house.”

“Mary”, the name rings a bell and he tries to recall what Zayn told him about the house. “The lesbian?”

Alfreda Hutcherson chuckles quietly. “Yes, the lesbian.”

Harry feels his heart warm a little at the thought. “Well, at least one happy gay couple got to live their life together in the house.”

He thinks for a moment, sipping his tea in silence before he musters up the courage to ask. “Was Will O’Neill named after –?”

“Yes, dear. As an honour to the great service William rendered them, Catherine and James named their first child after him.”  
And then _that_ William had a lesbian daughter, Harry thinks. It’s funny how things work out sometimes.

“I would have loved to meet him”, Harry sighs wistfully.

“You can, if you want to.”

Harry lifts his head and looks at her. “How?”

“You are not trapped in time, you know”, she smiles at him. “You can go back to different times in Edward’s life. It’s true that the events of the past follow the same chronology as the events today, meaning that what happened in September then, happens in September now. But you already jumped forward in time once.”

Harry blinks at her. “I did? When?”

“The stables”, she says. “Do you remember? You went into the stables once and saw Navarre there. It was a memory outside of the linear order. It was before you had even met William as Edward. The scene you remembered then, happened much later actually, in the following year.”

Harry tries to remember the scene. He went into the stables to pet Navarre, but then he got scared by somebody coming around the corner… For a blissful second a silly glimmer of hope ignites within him. Could it have been – but then he remembers that Mrs. Hutcherson already told him that Edward and William never saw each other again, and the glimmer of hope is crushed.

“You don’t have much time left, though, I’m afraid”, Mrs. Hutcherson goes on after giving him a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember when I told you that your journey is like a circle?”

“Yes”, he nods. “You said that I’d have to close the circle to understand the purpose of it all.”

“Well, the circle is almost closed. And soon, maybe sooner than you think, you won’t be able to live Edward’s life again.”

“You mean I’m going to forget everything that happened?”, Harry stares at her in horror.

“Oh no, dear”, Mrs. Hutcherson says with a calming smile. “No, these memories belong to your very core, Harry. You won’t ever forget them. You just won’t be able to _live_ them any longer, do you understand?”

“I… don’t think I do.”

“You see, it’s very easy to get stuck in the past, to lose yourself in it. The past can be very alluring. Unlike the present, that’s always uncertain, the past is clear, warm and comforting. There is no uncertainty, because it already happened. That can be dangerous. You have to live your life for the present, not the past. It’s better that way”, she takes his hand into her own. “Believe me. You might be tempted to relive this one summer over and over again and forget to go on with your own life, you know.”

“How much longer until the circle is closed?”

“Not very long”, she smiles again. “You’ll know when the moment comes. I promise.”

She studies him for a moment. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed, dear. You’ll feel a little better once you’ve slept. So will I, for that matter. You really kept me busy last night!”

Harry blushes. Of course, he thinks, feeling a little guilty. Somebody must have followed him around, opening all the doors and making sure he didn’t hurt himself. Somebody even greased the lock on the door of the courtyard so it would open. He apologises for putting her through all the trouble, but she immediately waves him off.  
“It was fascinating to watch you, to be honest. You didn’t speak one word, just walked around, stopping every once in a while. And when you were standing by the window in the blue room, you looked like an exact replica of the ghost I saw years ago. It was William that you saw there, wasn’t it?”

Harry nods, his eyes filling with tears again. “His father found out and he… beat him”, he chokes out. She takes his hand again, squeezing it in a gesture of comfort and understanding.

“I’m so sorry my dear. I forgot that you’ve only just lost him this morning.”

Harry tries to return her smile and clears his throat. “I have one more question”, he says slowly.

“If it has anything to do with finding William…”, she lifts her hands in a gesture of defiance that almost makes Harry laugh.

“No, it’s not about that. It’s about you.”

“Oh?”

“How do you know all of this?”

She looks at him with raised eyebrows and a small smile on her lips. “What do you mean, dear?”

“How do you know so much about Edward. His life here, Catherine… all of his family –”, he hesitates for a moment, trying to sort through his thoughts. “Are you… are you somebody I knew?”

Her smile slowly grows as she looks at him for another moment, seemingly looking for the right words. “I know so much about Edward and his life, because I spent a great part of it with him. And I know about Catherine because”, she hesitates but then her smile widens even more. “Well, because she was my daughter.”

“Your daughter? But that means you must be…”, Harry’s voice trails off, stunned by the realisation. How didn’t he see this before? Mrs. Hutcherson’s warm brown eyes, her motherly energy – the first day she came to his house to welcome him he felt like he recognised her from somewhere.

“I was your aunt in another life, yes”, her smile is warm and a few tears seem to appear in her eyes as she grasps his hand on the table.

“That’s why you’ve been helping me?”

“I was with you for the rest of my life after your loss. I saw how hurt you were. We had a good life together in Greywethers, but you never became your old, happy self after William left.”

“Did you know? Back then, I mean?”

“I suspected. I never knew any specifics, but I knew you were hurt deeply and without anyone to help you through it. I felt it only right to help you now, the second time around.”

Harry feels his own eyes fill with tears. He’s exhausted and his heart has just been broken, but he feels a sense of warmth wash over him at her words.  
“Thank you.” He squeezes her hand. “For everything.”

He wants to say so much more, but he’s too tired and overwhelmed with his own emotions to articulate anything else. His pain is still too real and raw, it feels like it’s still tearing him apart from the inside and his eyes are red and dry from all the tears and the exhaustion.

There will be time for more talking in the future and he knows that Mrs. Hutcherson understands.

***

When he finally leaves the manor, he takes the backdoor, stepping out into the courtyard once more. It’s quiet here and he slowly walks towards the grave, where Louis planted some beautiful flowers and, guarding the entire place, a beautiful climbing rose that miraculously still has a few blossoms left. It looks almost exactly the same as two hundred years ago, when William showed it to Edward. Harry smiles and turns to leave.

He was right. The door must have been greased and the key is still in the lock.  
Carefully, he takes it out and holds it in his hand for a moment, contemplating what to do with it.  
William gave him this key, he thinks. He’s not going to part with it. He can’t.

_William…_

Tears are prickling in his eyes again and he wipes them away, before opening the door resolutely and making his way down the narrow pathway in the direction of his house, leaving the manor behind.


	13. Chapter 13

Somehow he knows, the moment he closes his eyes, that this is going to be his last visit to the past.

Only a couple of hours have passed since he’s come back from the manor, but to Harry it feels like a lifetime. He slept a little bit but it was a light sleep, haunted by the ghost of a love long lost that feels like a fresh wound even after two hundred years.

The thought of an invisible circle that’s slowly closing in on him made it impossible to really rest and led by some intuition that he’s long stopped questioning, he finds himself behind his house now, in the old garden that’s long become a simple patch of grass.

This is the spot where the green gentleman stood all those years, waiting for a lover to return that never did, until the day Harry was born.

It feels only fitting that this is where it should end.

The big oak tree in the distance seems to bow its head to him in the wind, as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting the past embrace him like an old friend. There’s no dizziness this time, no ringing in his ears. Time just flows past him like a strong wind, taking him with it, until he opens his eyes again.

“Edward.” He turns around to look at the tall, blonde boy walking towards him. Will has his father’s blonde hair, but his face looks just like Catherine’s. He’s almost eighteen now, not really a boy any more.

Edward doesn’t like to pick favourites with his nieces and nephews, but Will has always had a special place in his heart.

After his own mother passed away a couple of years ago, only a year after her brother Joseph, Edward came here to help his aunt with the house. They sold most of the land, only keeping enough to feed themselves and they did well alone. After her father’s passing, Catherine, who had kept in touch with her mother through letters until then, came to visit Bilbury for the first time. It was an emotional reunion, but Edward saw his aunt’s happiness return together with her daughter and her grandchildren.

Their visits have long become a regular occurrence and William, being the oldest grandchild, visits them the most, staying at Greywethers every summer. Margaret and Catherine have a strong suspicion he might be inclined to stay even longer this time, judging by the close friendship he struck up with Annie Bennett, the vicar’s daughter.

“It’s done. I nailed down the roof so there’s no holes any more, cousin”, Will comes to a halt next to Edward now.

“Thank you, Will. I don’t want any doves getting stuck in there.”

The new owner of the manor, a Mr. Eaton, who bought the estate last year, decided to shut down the dovecote, deeming it old-fashioned and too far away from the manor. The doves were all sold, but every once in a while, a stray would find its way back to its old home and Edward doesn’t want any of them getting trapped inside of the abandoned building.

He can feel the eyes of the young man beside him searching his face critically. “You didn’t sleep last night.”

“I was dreaming”, Edward replies.

“I think you were sleepwalking. I head your steps on the stairs in the middle of the night.”

Edward looks at him with affectionate eyes. “You worry too much, Will. It was only one night.”

“The same night every year”, Will raises his eyebrows. “Maybe one day you’ll finally tell me what haunts you, cousin.”

“Maybe”, Edward smiles. “But not today. Don’t worry about it!”

Will shrugs and doesn’t ask further. “I’ll go and help my grandmother with dinner. It’s almost time.”

“I’ll come inside soon”, Edward says. “Just a moment.”

He hears Will’s steps retreat toward the house and takes another deep breath, looking at the oak tree and beyond it. Now that autumn is here and the trees are shedding their leaves, the outline of the manor is just about visible in the distance.

It’s peculiar to think that strangers live there now, in the halls and rooms that meant so much to him at some point.

It’s been many years since he’s set foot on the property. After William’s escape he went there a few times, to visit Navarre, when he stayed with his aunt and uncle the following summer. The horse had looked miserable, a sad shadow of the strong stallion it used to be. He smuggled himself back into the stables as often as he could, talking to him in a soft voice and feeding him apples. He got the feeling that Navarre recognised him, but it was clear that he missed his owner terribly.

Until one day, when he was petting Navarre, he heard footsteps around the corner. It was too late to run, and he already steeled himself for the inevitable, but he could have never prepared himself for the familiar figure that rounded the corner.

“ _James_ ”, he almost yelled, but the other man quickly pressed a finger to his own mouth, reminding him to be quiet.  
Edward only recognised him by his eyes. He was wearing a big hat and sporting a dark beard.

Their hug was fierce, the hug of two old friends who love each other despite the distance between them. “What are you doing here? Is my cousin with you?”

“No, she didn’t come. To close to her father, you know”, James shrugged. “I only came by order of an old friend on my way to France.” He looked at Edward with a meaningful glance. “To come get Navarre.”

Edward’s heart skipped a beat. _William._

“How is he?”, he asked, although he knew there was no time to be lost. James was already approaching Navarre, carefully reaching out to pet his neck, which made the horse’s ears stand up in recognition.

“He’s alive and healthy”, James said and Edward nodded, feeling tears shoot into his eyes. He blinked them away and smiled.

“Good. That’s good”, he said. “And you and Catherine?”

“She’s pregnant! Can you believe it? I’m going to be a father – if I ever make it back from France in one piece”, he joked.

“That’s great news! I’m so happy for you”, Edward said, and he meant it. James smile turned a little melancholy.

“I wish you could share our happiness, friend”, he said softly. “You know he loves you.”

“Yes.”

“He wanted to marry you.”

“I know”, Edward looked down at his ring with a sad smile.

A smile plays on his lips now at the bittersweet memory, and he’s happy that Catherine and James, as well as their beautiful children, are in his life again.

He missed them during those years where they couldn’t see each other, but when they finally did, everything immediately felt as if they’d never been apart. True love doesn’t fade, he learned that the hard way.

He sighs and looks out over the fields, thinking about all of the blessings in his life and all of the people in it that he loves with all of his heart.  
And then he looks down at his hand, caressing the rose ring with one finger. Just a moment longer…

***

The sudden sound of his phone ringing in the kitchen catapults him back into the present. He’s not Edward any more, he’s Harry again and it takes him a moment to regain his composure and to convince his feet to start moving towards the backdoor.

“Well, you took your time”, his sister’s mocking voice greets him through the phone.

“Sorry”, he says and wipes his eyes with tired fingers, leaning against the wall. “I was outside.”

“Oh, trying some gardening again?”

“Something like that.”

“Are you okay?”, her voice sounds serious now. “You sound… off.”

“I’m okay”, he lies.

“You went back again, didn’t you? What happened now?”

“I’ll tell you some other time, okay? I don’t want to talk right now. I just want to go to bed and sleep for a few days.”

“Shouldn’t someone be with you? I could cancel my lecture, or maybe Niall could -”

“No.” His answer sounds harsh, but he can’t help it. “I’m sorry. I just need to be alone right now.”

“Are you sure?” His sister sounds worried and he feels bad, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. He’ll try to explain everything soon.

“Yes. I’m sure.” He can’t help sounding gruff.

“Okay… well, call me when you feel a little better, okay? And if there’s anything I can do, just ask”, she says and when they hang up, Harry feels terrible for being so terse.

He leans forward on the counter, staring out of the window at a patch of grass where a garden used to be and where a young man stood and got older while waiting for a lover that never came back.

Or maybe, he came to him in visions just like his own, a silhouette under the tree on the hill, a lone rider and his grey horse.  
So close but always just out of reach.

How many seasons came and went, how much snow fell and melted again, how many flowers bloomed and wilted while Edward stood there waiting for William, helplessly stuck in time, waiting for the moment their souls could finally find each other again.

And now the moment has finally but Harry can’t feel any joy or happiness, only stranded helplessness and a vague sense of defeat. How is he supposed to find William?

Look with your soul, he said, but how does that work? It’s not very likely that he’s going to just turn up at his door one day. Maybe he just has to wait a little longer, stand in his garden a little longer, watching the leaves turn yellow and fall, just to grow back the next year, until his William will finally find him.

The weather is almost offensively nice the next day, all sunshine and blue skies that don’t fit Harry’s gloomy mood at all. He makes a spontaneous appointment with his editor in Manchester to talk through some of his drafts in person, but he knows that it’s just an excuse to get out of the house and away from Bilbury for half a day.

It’s nice to have some distraction from his bad mood and his Britt is absolutely lovely and seems very excited about how his book is coming along, but he doesn’t feel the kind of relief he was hoping for.

The thought that he has somehow failed won’t leave his mind all day. What if he was supposed to have already found William and he just fucked it up somehow? What if he was right under his nose and some point, but he messed it up and now he’s gone again? He tries to remind himself to be patient and trust the process of things. Like Mrs. Hutcherson said, he can’t rush fate. But that’s easier said than done.

Ironically enough, the first time he feels like a weight lifting off of his shoulders, is when he makes his way back to Bilbury. For the first time all day he feels alive again, almost peaceful.

When he parks his car in the driveway, he sees that he’s got visitors.

Niall and Louis are standing in the dovecote garden and when he spots Harry getting out of the car, Niall grins and waves enthusiastically. “We already helped ourselves to some coffee”, he announces. “We thought you wouldn’t mind. The backdoor wasn’t locked.”

Next to him, Louis stops working for a moment, straightening his back and adjusting his black cap. The sleeves of his red flannel shirt are rolled up, showing off his muscular forearms that seem to glow golden in the sun, like a last remnant of summer. “I stopped Niall from raiding your fridge”, he smiles at Harry.

“I was only going to make myself a sandwich”, Niall pouts.

“Yeah, but I’ve seen you make a sandwich”, Louis laughs. “It’s always a massacre, like you haven’t eaten anything in over a week.”

“I am a hard-working business owner. I need nourishment.”

Louis rolls his eyes slightly and gives Harry a look as if to say “listen to this guy”. Harry smiles.

Here in the sun, with his friends around, it’s almost possible to forget his worries for a moment. But then his eyes fall on the flower garden, or what’s left of it, and his heart sinks. There’s a pile of withered flowers that Louis obviously worked on all morning, and the only thing left standing is the thorny, flowerless remains of a single rosebush. All the other flowers have died, even Harry’s favourite sunflowers.

He pulls his eyes away from the sad sight and smiles at Niall. “I’m going to go and get myself a coffee, you want to help yourself to a sandwich under my watchful eye?”  
Niall nods vigorously and jumps up. “Another coffee?”, Harry asks Louis.

“Dumb question”, Louis smiles, handing him his cup.

Niall is oddly quiet and Harry is just beginning to wonder if something is wrong, when he finally turns to him in the middle of constructing a sandwich that looks like it could feed a small family. “I have to tell you something”, he says, sounding serious. “I wanted you to be the first to know. Well, okay. _Technically_ Louis already knows and Aunt Freda of course, but they don’t count.”

Harry chuckles. He wonders if Louis would agree to such slander.

“I met someone.”

“Oh my god”, Harry grins. “Is this the moment where you finally tell me you’ve secretly been dating some sort of celebrity all summer? Is it Selena Gomez? I remember you saying you used to have a crush on her that one time we got really drunk, don’t think I forgot that!”

Niall cackles. “Not quite. It’s better, actually.”

“Oh? Okay then, who is it?”

“It's... Gemma.”

“Gemma?”, Harry repeats dumbly.

“Your sister”, Niall says, his expression somewhere between scared and amused.

“You are dating my sister.” Harry looks at him blankly. “You are dating Gemma?”  
Niall nods apprehensively.

“ _That’s_ why you were gone all the time? To date my sister? Is that what I helped you get dressed for, as well?”  
Niall nods again, looking slightly terrified now. Finally the first shock wears off and Harry suddenly can’t hold back the loud laugh that bubbles out of his mouth.

“Oh my god, mate. You should see your _face_ right now!”

“Hey! That’s not funny. I didn’t know how you were going to react”, Niall says and then joins his laughter. It feels good to stand there, just laughing together with the sun streaming in through the window. It feels cleansing somehow and Harry feels relaxed for the first time in days, when he finally catches his breath.

“I thought you were going to pull that whole protective brother shenanigan there for a second”, Niall admits, which makes Harry cackle again.

“God, no. I’m a feminist, Niall”, he says, bumping his elbow to Niall’s side. “Besides, as you should very well know by now, my sister doesn’t need me to protect her from anyone.”

“Oh no. She can be quite fierce, that one”, Niall agrees with a wide grin.

“Hey”, Harry says, watching Niall finally put the top layer of bread onto his monstrosity of a sandwich. “I’m really happy for you guys!”

“Thank you”, Niall says and takes a big bite.

“I can’t believe my mother didn’t even tell me. She’s usually never this good with keeping these kinds of things to herself.”

“She doesn’t know yet”, Niall mumbles with a mouth full of sandwich.

“Really?” Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise. It’s not like Gemma to keep a secret like this from their mother.

Niall seems to read is thoughts, because he shrugs, grinning sheepishly. “I honestly don’t even know why we kept it a secret for so long. It was just really fun, I guess, the sneaking around. Like, it was so exciting somehow that nobody else knew. And it really kept the pressure off for the first couple of months.”  
Harry nods, looking out of the window to Louis who’s already working again, and his mind wanders wistfully to his own secret summer romance. He hopes that his sister’s has a happier ending than his, though.

“Do you think she’ll like me?”, Niall’s voice pulls him from his thoughts.

“Who?”

“Your mum, I mean.”

Harry looks at his friend, his honest and friendly face that suddenly reminds him a lot of another one from another life with the same infectuous smile. “Honestly, I think she’s going to absolutely love you”, he smiles.

“I think Gemma is telling her today. She’s planning on inviting her for dinner to introduce me.” Niall’s voice actually sounds a bit nervous and Harry throws his arm around the Irish man’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry. You’ll knock her socks off, no problem, with your Irish charms!”

Somehow, Harry can’t help the sadness that creeps into his smile. He’s happy for his sister and Niall, he really is. But the happiness feels bittersweet, too much like that time James told him about Catherine all of those years ago. He tries to wipe it away, but Niall must have seen it, because he looks at him with an unreadable expression on his face, as Harry pours Louis’ and his own cups of coffee.

“Are you sure you’re okay with it?”, he asks and Harry feels bad for his stupid broken heart.

“Of course. I’m really happy for you!”, he assures his friend. “I just have a bit of a headache, that’s all.”

“Okay…”, Niall looks unconvinced, but a glance at the time on Harry’s oven distracts him. “Shit. Is it okay if I take this to go?” He waves the sandwich around dangerously. “I promised Liam that he could take the day off and I really need to open the pub now…”

“Yes, of course! Go!” Harry shoos him off.

“Are you coming by later? We’ll open a bottle of wine, to celebrate. We’re basically family now, right?” Niall winks, already walking backwards out of the kitchen. “Oh! And I almost forgot, Zayn’s coming back today, so we have to welcome him, of course!”

“I’ll be there”, Harry promises.

***

Louis stops working when he sees Harry walking towards him, carefully balancing a tray with both of their coffee cups and a big plate with a sandwich he made for Louis and some biscuits he found in his cupboard. “You’re an angel.” Louis stretches his arms over his head and then takes off his hat and his working gloves, ruffling his hair with his fingers, before sitting down on the wall next to Harry and taking a sip of coffee.

His blue eyes study him over the rim of his cup. “So, I take it Niall told you?”

“He did.” Harry tries to smile. “Didn’t see that one coming, not gonna lie.”

Louis is still looking at him with that analysing expression, as if he’s trying to read Harry’s mind. “He was really hoping you’d be happy for them.”

“I am”, Harry says but he can tell Louis doesn’t buy it.

He pulls a squished packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, shakes one out and lights it and his eyes seem to sparkle in the brief light of the fire. “Okay”, he says, taking a drag. “Then why do you look so sad?”

“I don’t know”, Harry sighs and crosses his legs, leaning back on his hands.

He looks out into the field, where the sun is slowly beginning to set behind the soft hills, making everything glow in the golden light.

“I really don’t know”, he repeats. “It’s just, the last couple of days… summer is gone and everything’s changing and going away…”, he stops himself, looking down. “This was such a beautiful garden.”

Louis seems to understand him somehow. “It will come back”, he says with a soft smile. “Next year. That’s the beautiful thing about flowers. They always come back.”

“You’re right”, Harry sighs again. “I’m just being weird, sorry.”

Louis looks at him for a moment and his eyes seem radiant in the soft, pink glow of the sunset. After a moment he looks down at his feet, turning over a piece of soil with the tip of his boot. “It’s all still there, you see?”, he explains. “The bulbs and the roots, they are all still there, just waiting to grow and bloom again, hidden beneath the surface. Don’t just look with your eyes.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette and blows out the smoke slowly. “Look with your soul, instead. The soul sees what really matters.”

For a long moment, everything stops.

And then Louis lifts his head and his blue eyes meet Harry’s green ones across the quiet serenity of the garden. Across the centuries.

Harry is suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat hammering in his chest, and the lump that’s building in throat. All he can do is stare at Louis’ disarming blue eyes that are looking at him with a quiet intensity.

 _Oh_ , Harry thinks _._ How could he have been this blind? Everything he is, everything he ever wanted, lies there in these beautiful blue eyes. There’s a familiar spark in them now, making them look so similar to William’s eyes, but it’s Louis that’s looking at him now, Louis whose lips slowly form a crooked smile.

“Couldn’t you see it?”, he asks and his voice is still incredibly, almost painfully soft. He chuckles and puts out his cigarette, shaking his head lightly. “God, I though I was being so obvious. Freda literally had to threaten me with violence several times over the last months, to keep my mouth shut.”

Harry gawks at him. “She knew?”

Louis smiles, for real this time. “Yeah, she knew right from the start, when Zayn brought me here during one of our summer breaks from Cambridge. I had a pretty hard time that summer… thought I was going insane, but”, he looks at Harry from beneath his long lashes. “You know how it is.”

“I do”, Harry says, still trying to process what’s happening.

They might as well be talking about the weather right now, with the casual way Louis sits next to him, his shoulders blocking the sun now, the last sunbeams making it look like he has a halo. They haven’t touched, haven’t fallen into each others arms in a desperate gesture of recognition, they are just sitting next to each other, as if Louis didn’t just turn his entire world upside down.

“I moved to Paris after I graduated and travelled around France, you know. I was curious to see what William did during his time there. But all I really found was loneliness and sadness. And you weren’t there, of course.” His eyes caress Harry’s face for a moment and it feels so much like a real touch, that Harry almost leans in, but then Louis continues. “So I came back here, bought the cottage and decided to wait for you. I knew you’d turn up.” His eyes leave Harry now, wandering instead to the old oak tree right behind his shoulder.

“When…”, Harry has to clear his throat but his voice still sounds a little shaky. “When did you know that it was me?”

Louis gives him a funny look. “I knew the moment I first saw you peering through that window right there.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”, Harry’s voice is only a whisper.

“I wanted to”, Louis says, finally getting up and taking a step closer to him, carefully, like he doesn’t want to scare him off. “Believe me, I wanted to tell you. I went through hell this summer”, he chuckles humourlessly. “But Freda told me to wait. She said you’d figure it out in your own time. I’d just have to wait.”

“Louis…”, Harry doesn’t even know what he wants to say. He feels a sudden thrill at hearing the familiar name roll off his tongue with an entirely new meaning.

“I’m a very patient person, you know”, Louis goes on and takes another deliberate step closer to Harry until he’s almost standing between his legs. “But I think I’ve waited long enough now.”

His eyes seem to search Harry’s face for something and Harry can feel himself blush.

Louis finally smiles, a tender, affectionate smile, that somehow encompasses all of Harry’s longing and he reaches out his hand to stroke Harry’s cheek. “My love”, he whispers. “My red, red rose.”

And then he finally kisses him.

It’s unlike anything Harry has ever experienced before. It feels like his entire world narrows down to this one moment, like nothing else exists any more except the soft touch of Louis’ lips on his. This one kiss carries all of the desperate emotion of two hundred years worth of longing, waiting for the other, and like an array of fireworks exploding in the sky, sparks of colourful emotion explode between them, fear, confusion, love and the bittersweet feeling of wanting to make up for lost time.

Maybe it should be weird, considering that, although _Edward_ and _William_ have kissed before, Harry and Louis haven’t, but in this moment it doesn’t matter.

Their love transcends their physical appearance and spans through the centuries, reaching through them into the past as if, by connecting their lips, they opened a door connecting them directly to the men they once were, all those years ago when they fell hopelessly and irrevocably in love for the first time.

When their lips part after a moment that felt like two whole centuries, Harry feels all of the despair and grief and pain that has been clinging to him ever since their parting kiss in the church finally fall off him. All that’s left is giddy, overwhelming excitement and most of all the sweeping, immeasurable, infinite feeling of love and adoration that sets his whole body and soul on fire as he finally gets to look into those blue eyes again. He wonders how he could have been so blind that he didn’t recognise them before.

“God, I’ve missed you”, he whispers, breathlessly.

“Tell me about it”, Louis chuckles with a familiar sparkle of amusement in his eyes. Harry’s heart can’t decide between giddy laughter and overwhelming love, which results in tears falling down his face as he chuckles lightly, trying hard to calm himself down.

Miraculously, Louis seems to sense his distress, because he places a gentle hand on his cheeks, his eyes glowing with fond affection and when he speaks, It’s in the softest voice known to man. “Hey. Look at me.”

Harry blinks away the tears that started pooling into his eyes and meets Louis’ gaze. A smile spreads over Louis face, so beautiful that it takes Harry’s breath away.  
“It’s all going to be okay now.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier”, Harry shakes his head. “I was so blind. I wasted so much time!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself”, Louis is still smiling at him, both of his hands or drawing light circles onto Harry’s thighs now and the soft movements along with Louis’ incredibly comforting presence, calms Harry’s nerves and soothes his ragged breathing.

“We have all the time in the world”, Louis says now. “We have a whole lifetime together.”

“Finally.”

And then Harry kisses him again. And again.

And again.

***

It’s tempting to just stay in, absorbing each other’s presence all night long. It would have been easy to just lay on Harry’s sofa when it got dark outside, wrapped up in each other and in their own private bubble.  
But they know they can’t. Tonight is important to Niall and it’s Zayn’s first night back, so after only an hour of idle kissing and talking in hushed voices about nothing in particular, they begrudgingly untangle their limbs and get ready to go to the pub.

“Ugh, do we have to?”, Harry groans, trying to tame his hair in the mirror. “It’s too soon! I’ve only just found you again.”  
Louis laughs and wraps his arms around him from behind, tucking his head in the space between his neck and shoulder.

“So dramatic! We’re only going to the pub, Harold.”

Harry pouts at him through the mirror. “We haven’t even gotten the chance to talk about everything…”, he trails off, but Louis understands him anyway.

There’s still so many thoughts to share – a whole other lifetime worth of stories and memories.

“We’ll have time for that later”, Louis smiles and kisses his cheek. “And tomorrow.” Another kiss. “And the day after. And the day after that…”, he’s peppering kisses all over Harry’s cheek and neck now, making him giggle and squirm.

“Okay, okay, I get your point”, he laughs.

“Come on, _Mr. Styles_ ”, Louis steps away and holds out his hand for him to take. “Let’s go.”

It’s nice, walking together hand in hand, through the chilly evening and Harry feels completely happy and relaxed. Until they make it to the door of the Black Bull and he stops, suddenly freezing in his tracks. Startled, Louis stops a few steps ahead of him, turning around with a puzzled look on his face.

“Everything okay?”

“What are we going to say?”, Harry simply asks, unable to put into words what’s racing through his mind with sudden urgency.

“What do you mean?”

Harry gestures between them helplessly. “About us, I mean.”

“Oh”, Louis scratches his head. “We should tell them, right?”

“Yeah, of course. But then again…” Harry shrugs, looking unsure. “Niall was so excited to celebrate him and my sister… I don’t want to steal his thunder. And Zayn’s just coming back, and besides, how do we even explain this… I mean, they might think it’s a little… sudden.”

Louis looks as if he hadn’t even thought about that and they look at each other for a moment, both pondering their options. “Maybe we should wait”, Louis says, looking unsure. “We can just tell them when the timing is a little better, you know.”

“I think it would be better, but…”, Harry pouts. “Does that mean I have to let go of your hand?”

“I’m afraid the hand holding might raise some suspicion, yes Harold”, Louis laughs and Harry wants to kiss him.

“If it’s too hard, we can also just tell them. I’m sure they’ll be fine!”

“No”, Harry finally lets go of Louis’ hand. “I want don’t want to make this evening all about us, you know? We can still tell them some other time.”

“Yeah, you’re right. So, we just keep our hands to ourselves tonight”, Louis agrees.

“Exactly! No inappropriate touching please, _sir_ ”, Harry says in a mocking tone and revels in the way Louis’ eyes darken for a split second at the word.

“Yeah, okay”, Louis clears his throat. “Right. Maybe don’t do _that_ , though. There’s no point in making it even harder for me to keep my hands to myself, is there? And don’t look at me like that, please.”

“Like what?”, Harry grins, tilting his head a little, looking as innocent as possible.

“God, you’re a menace”, Louis grits out sharply, but the fiery look of adoration in his eyes softens his words. “Please don’t make my life even harder, love. It’s been excruciating enough staying away from you all summer.”

Harry sobers up at the realisation. He can’t even begin to imagine what it must have felt like for Louis, having him right under his nose, close enough to touch and yet unreachable. “I’m sorry”, he says and squeezes Louis’ hand quickly. “After tonight you can touch me as much as you want, wherever you want. I’m all yours.” Louis actually lets out a small growl and Harry laughs. “Sorry, making it harder. Right!” He clears his throat and straightens his posture. “Shall we enter then?”

“We shall”, Louis smiles at him. “After you, dear.”

“This is actually kind of exciting, isn’t it? Maybe Niall and Gemma were onto something”, Harry says excitedly as he brushes past Louis, who chuckles and opens the door.

“Ready, Harold?”

“Yes, I feel like I’m in a spy movie. Totally undercover”, Harry whispers and steps into the pub.

***

Niall is alone behind the bar. “Oh hey, boys”, he greets them with a big grin while casually lifting a tray full of freshly poured pints. “Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll be with you in a sec.”

Louis and Harry share a glance and move to sit next to each other at the bar, trying very hard to make everything seem like any other time they’ve done this. Sitting next to each other casually shouldn’t be that hard, right? Suddenly, Harry can’t remember what to do with his hands or how to hide the goofy smile that keeps spreading all over his face without his consent, and the silly butterflies in his stomach whenever Louis’ leg or elbow brushes past him for a moment make it very hard to concentrate on anything.

He wonders how he sat next to the other man so many times before without noticing the electric energy that’s now buzzing between them.

“Alright, I say we wait with the wine for Zayn and Liam, so can I get you anything else first?”, Niall’s cheery voice startles him. Harry didn’t even notice he was already back behind the counter again.

“Uh”, his mind blanks for a moment and he’s grateful for Louis’ easy order of “Pint for me, thanks Nialler”, that buys him another second before Niall’s attention is back on him.

“I’ll take a gin and tonic”, he says, trying to hide his short internal panic.

“Finished your work in the garden then?”, Niall asks casually as he pours Louis’ pint.

Louis raises his eyebrows and something flashes across his face as he glances at Harry for a second, but then he schools his features to a completely passive expression. “Yep, got it all ready for autumn.”

“Okay”, Niall says, placing both of their drinks before them and nodding as if deep in thought. “So did you two have sex before or after you got done with that?”

They probably look like two mimes in an obscure comedy sketch with the completely synchronized way they both gawk at Niall in silent shock.

“What the fuck?”, Louis says and Harry tries really hard to close his mouth again.

“Wait, oh my god!”, Niall mirrors their shocked expressions. “You _totally_ fucked! I can’t believe it!”

Harry clears his throat awkwardly, shooting Louis a glance who looks at him with an expression that looks just as clueless and confused as Harry feels.

“Niall… what are you on about?”, Louis takes a sip of his beer, clearly trying hard to play it cool.

“What am _I_ on about?”, Niall smirks at them both. “That’s rich coming from you two.”

“Is that psychic gene finally kicking in with you, or was that just a shot in the dark then?” Louis drops the facade.

“Ha! I knew it”, Niall punches the air in celebration but he stops just short of launching into a full dance move, sobering up at their unimpressed expressions. “Okay, I admit that was a total shot in the dark. I just picked up on that weird energy between you guys…”, he gestures between them. “But I was right, wasn’t I? So it really doesn’t matter that it was just a guess.”

“For the record, we didn’t _actually_ have sex”, Harry clarifies.

“Doesn’t matter”, Niall looks unfazed.

“What do you mean, that doesn’t matter? That means you’re wrong!”, Harry replies indignantly.

“Well, if you haven’t already you’re definitely going to later, so”, Niall makes an offhand gesture. “Semantics.”

Harry can’t help the blush creeping into his cheeks that makes both Louis and Niall chuckle.

“I think I embarrassed your boyfriend”, Niall coos to Louis, who throws and arm over Harry’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, he’ll get over it”, Louis replies, planting a quick kiss on Harry’s reddened cheek. “I’ll take his mind off of it later”, he jokes, chuckling at the way Harry goes an even darker red.

“Aww, don’t be shy, H. We’re family now, remember”, Niall cackles.

“I’m _not_ shy”, Harry says as gracefully as possible under the circumstances. “I happen to be all for open communication and sex positivity!”

“That’s my boy”, Niall pats him on the back. One of the regulars at the corner table calls his name and Niall dashes off again.

“So, that went well”, Louis says in a low voice. “Hey, I hope that was alright, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Harry grins, butterflies erupting in his stomach as they make eye contact. “I’m not uncomfortable. I just blush easily.”

“God, I know”, Louis breathes and touches a hand to his cheek. “I love you so much, you know that?”

“I know”, Harry smiles. “I love you, too.”

“My rose…”, Louis whispers again, his eyes tracing every inch of Harry’s face which makes him blush again.

“You’re going to have to stop that, or I’ll have to drag you out of here much earlier than we planned on”, Louis warns him in a low voice. His intensity makes a hot, tingly feeling settle somewhere at the bottom of Harry’s spine and he feels even more jittery than before.

“It’s not exactly like I have control over it”, he giggles.

“What do you have no control over?”, a familiar, unexpected voice breaks the tension between them and they both whip their heads around. Zayn is standing right behind them, grinning ear to ear.

“Now don’t get too excited please, we don’t want to cause a disturbance”, Zayn laughs at their obviously stunned expressions.

“Welcome back, man!”, Louis gets up first, hugging Zayn tightly. “Missed you.”

“I missed you guys, too”, Zayn smiles, hugging Harry as well and plopping down on the barstool next to his.

“How are you? How was your holiday?”, Harry asks, but before Zayn can answer, Niall comes back and interrupts them with a huge, shit eating grin.

“You owe me ten quid, Mr. Millionaire”, he declares to Harry’s confusion.

“No!”, Zayn and Liam both look between Harry and Louis in astonishment.

“Oh my god, lads”, Louis rolls his eyes dramatically. “You didn’t.”

“Sorry, bud”, Zayn grins at him, not looking sorry at all. “If you wouldn’t have taken so long, I would have bought you both a drink from my win, but you just had to wait until summer’s over.”

“Wait, when exactly did you make this bet?”

“Oh Louis, my dear friend”, Zayn puts his arm around his shoulder brotherly. “Two weeks after Harry moved in.”

Louis looks positively appalled and Harry can’t hold in the slightly hysterical laughter any longer. “If your aunt told you anything…”, Louis points a threatening finger to Niall, who pushes it away with a smile.

“Not a word, I swear. We figured it out ourselves.”

“Liam, I guess you’re my only friend now”, Louis announces, toasting Liam, who’s made his way back to his usual spot in the corner behind the bar again.

“He was in on it, too”, Zayn laughs. “Don’t be fooled by his innocent puppy eyes!”

“Sorry, Louis. You weren’t exactly being subtle, you know”, Liam shrugs, puppy eyes and all.

“Can you believe it?”, Louis turns to Harry with a grin on his face and he looks happier than Harry has ever seen him. “I have the _worst_ friends in the whole entire world!”

“I’ll drink to that”, Niall says, pulling out the bottle of wine and five glasses.

“To being the worst friends in the whole entire world”, he says, grinning as all of them lift their wine glasses and clink them together between them.

“To love”, Louis says, smiling at Harry as they all drink.

There is so much history between them, but in this moment, looking into each other’s eyes, surrounded by their friends, all Harry cares about is the future they get to share with each other.

Later, they will go home together, spending their first night together in freedom. And then tomorrow, they might visit Mrs. Hutcherson for tea, if Louis can fit it into his busy schedule and Harry will call his sister, to finally catch up for real and he can see it all so clearly in this moment, the life he’s going to build together with Louis, day by day.

He sees it all in front of his mental eye, meeting each other’s families, living together, the wedding, the family they’ll have of their own. They finally live in a world where they can love each other out in the open, like they imagined all those years ago laying in the woods on a hot summer’s day.

But all that matters right now is the familiar glint in Louis’ blue eyes when they meet his own and the love and laughter that’s welling up in Harry’s chest as he sits here, next to the man he loves surrounded by their friends.

***

They stumble back to Greywethers in the middle of the night and Harry feels drunk not only from the wine and liquor that flowed generously all night, but also from the exhilarating feeling of Louis’ warm presence next to him and the way it feels so natural to step into his kitchen feeling the gentle press of his hand on his lower back guiding him through the door.

He turns around immediately, a dopey grin on his face, and is met with Louis already smiling at him. The door is still open, the cool breeze ruffling Louis’ soft brown hair and Harry smiles at the big old oak tree that’s visible just above his right shoulder.

It stands alone, no silhouette looming underneath, it’s leaves rustling in the light breeze. Harry focusses his eyes on the man right in front of him, a soft smile playing on his lips and the feeling of reverent admiration mirrored in his features.

„Come here“, he says softly, his voice almost a whisper. Harry complies easily. Louis’ lips are soft and the kiss is almost shy. As if the hours they spent with their friends sharing only chaste touches of their hands or bumping their knees together under the bar, somehow made Louis hesitant, not wanting to scare Harry off.

Harry lets out a tiny whimper of frustration and steps even closer, trying to deepen their kiss, but Louis pulls away.

“What’s wrong?”, Harry furrows his brows, suddenly concerned. God, what if Louis realised he’s not what he expected him to be – that Harry isn’t _Edward_ or maybe he’s not physically attracted to him in this life –

“Hey”, a soft voice interrupts his spiralling thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry.”

“But you –”, Harry clears his throat a little awkwardly. “You don’t want to –?” He leaves the question open ended, feeling a little embarrassed and a lot confused.

His confusion only deepens when Louis suddenly bursts out into loud, full bodied laughter. “Heeey”, Harry protests softly. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m sorry”, Louis chuckles, catching his bearings again. “I’m not, I promise.”

Harry crosses his arms and tries really hard not to pout.

“Oh, love”, Louis says and his voice is sweet like honey, soothing Harry’s confusing emotions. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just… the notion that I don’t want to be close to you in _every_ possible way”, he emphasises the word and steps closer to Harry again, stroking his cheek gently with one hand, “is a little absurd when I’ve spent half a year and about two centuries waiting for this.”

A weight seems to drop off Harry’s shoulders and he takes a deep, steadying breath.

“I just don’t want to rush you. It’s all much newer to you, you know? I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

“You’re not pressuring me”, Harry shakes his head adamantly. “I may have been a little blind and I didn’t have to wait as long as you did, but there hasn’t been a day that I didn’t miss you this summer.”

Louis answers him with a kiss, less hesitant this time, but still too short for Harry’s taste.

“I can’t believe I finally get to do this”, he whispers as he pulls away. “Do I really get this? You?”

“You already have me”, Harry smiles and places a soft kiss to Louis’ jaw. “You had me all this time. I’ve always been yours.”

His kisses trail down Louis’ neck slowly, until he reaches the soft dent of his collarbone. “Wait, Harold”, Louis pushes him away gently with a small hiss. “We really don’t have to rush this. Should we maybe just… talk a little bit?”

Harry clears his throat and tries to calm down is belaboured breathing. “Yes. Talk. Sounds good”, he says, as Louis slowly takes a step back.

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms, Louis mirroring his position leaning against the kitchen island. “Okay, so… There obviously a lot we should, uh, discuss”, Louis starts and wipes a hand over his face as if to refocus.

“Yes”, Harry breathes, trying hard to focus on anything but the warmth that seems to be radiating off of Louis like an electric forcefield, pulling him in again. “Sorry, it’s… you’re very distracting”, he admits and he feels himself blush despite himself, biting his lower lip.

Louis eyes are glued to his mouth and he lets out a low groan that’s somewhere between frustration and exhilaration. The sound sends tingles down Harry’s spine and he licks his lips instinctively. He watches Louis gaze follow the movement of his tongue and then their eyes meet again. The air seems charged and hot between them, despite the fresh air streaming in through the still open door.

“Fuck it”, Louis growls finally and in a flash, their bodies meet in the middle, crashing into each other with an intensity that knocks the air out of Harry and makes his knees weak.

“Bedroom”, he pants out when they both come up for air after a moment and Louis nods before diving back in, his kiss making Harry forget everything around him for a moment.

They make it to the bedroom where Harry manoeuvres them towards the bed clumsily, accidentally pushing Louis’ back into his dresser. They break their kiss to laugh breathlessly. “Sorry”, Harry huffs against Louis’ neck, making him squirm and turn his head.

And then he suddenly freezes, his laughter dying in his throat. Harry lifts his head. “What’s wrong? Did I do something, or –”

Louis isn’t looking at him. His head is turned away from Harry and he seems to be captivated by something on Harry’s dresser. His hands leave Harry’s hips and he twists his body around to grab something. Confused, Harry watches him with furrowed brows, until he finally sees what Louis is holding.

It’s the locket. The locket he bought for him on a beautiful spring day at the market, a whole lifetime and two centuries ago.

Neither of them says a word as Louis slowly lifts his hands and delicately places the necklace around Harry’s nick. His eyes seem to glow as he looks at Harry wearing the locket, and Harry once again wonders how he could have been so blind for so long that he didn’t recognise his eyes immediately.

“Beautiful”, he whispers now and his voice sounds thick with emotion. “You know I almost had a heart attack when I saw you wearing it that day you came over to my house?”

They both smile at the memory. “That was a good day”, Harry says softly. “I still can’t believe you had Wellies in my size”, he jokes. “Must be fate, huh?”

“Yeah”, Louis smiles and strokes a stray strand of hair away from Harry’s forehead. “Must be.”

Their lips find each other again like it’s the most natural thing in the world and they both smile into the kiss that quickly turns more heated. “This okay?”, Louis asks, tugging on Harry’s shirt slightly.

“Yes, yes”, Harry breathes, quickly taking it off himself. “Off”, he says and pulls on Louis’ shirt as well. They take each other in for a moment before their eyes lock again, electric energy sizzling in the air between them.

“Bed”, Harry says, too turned on for full sentences, but Louis understands him perfectly, pushing him backwards by the hips until he falls onto the soft mattress, Louis following right after him.

Their movements become more frantic now that they’re lying down and Harry feels like he could burst with heady excitement at the feeling of Louis hands travelling his entire body. Unable to hold back any longer, he reaches for Louis’ fly, his knuckles brushing past his erection through the denim of his jeans for a second, making him hiss.

“Wait.” Louis stops his fingers with a firm grip. “Hold on.” His breath comes in pants that are completely synchronised with Harry’s own erratic breathing, but his face suddenly looks pained and Harry removes his hand quickly.

“I’m so sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I’m sorry”, Louis rushes to reassure him. “You didn’t do anything wrong baby.”

Harry blushes at the pet name and Louis groans.

“God, you’re so gorgeous. It’s too much”, he sighs and hides his face in Harry’s neck for a moment before looking up again. His half-naked body is still hovering over Harry’s, who can see the his bicep flex with every movement.

“What’s wrong?”, Harry pulls his eyes away from Louis’ beautiful arms, focussing back on his face.

“Do you not want to –”

“Oh believe me, I want to”, Louis chuckles. “It’s just… god this is embarrassing.”

“Hey”, Harry smiles at him. “It’s me. There’s nothing you need to be embarrassed about, okay?” We are basically engaged, he wants to add, but he’s afraid of coming off too strongly. After all, they’ve only been together for a few hours in _this_ lifetime. Maybe things have changed for Louis…

“Okay, so. Remember when I told you that I moved here two years ago to wait for you?”, Louis raspy voice interrupts Harry’s thoughts.

“Yes. I remember”, he furrows his brows, unsure where this is going.

“Well, um. When I said I was waiting for you, that meant… really waiting for you, you know?”

"What?” Harry still doesn’t get it. Louis lets out a frustrated groan and for once, he’s the one who blushes slightly.

“I haven’t had sex in like, more than two years”, he suddenly blurts out and Harry almost lets out a surprised laugh, but stops himself in time. He doesn’t want Louis to think he’s laughing at him.

“You… _oh_ ”, he finally says, too many thoughts running through his head to form an actual sentence.

“I don’t know if that’s weird or something, but I just. I couldn’t. Not after I knew about you, you know? It felt like I was cheating…” His voice trails off, but he clears his throat and looks at Harry more firmly again. “I just wanted to clear that up beforehand. I… don’t want you to be disappointed.”

This time Harry can’t control the laughter that bubbles out of him. “Come here”, he says and pulls Louis into another kiss. “You’re ridiculous.” He kisses him again and then rolls them over in a comparatively swift motion so he’s sitting on top of Louis, straddling his thighs. “I really appreciate the disclaimer”, he says with a huge grin and places a kiss on each of Louis’ nipples. “But you don’t need to worry. I could literally _never_ be disappointed by this, okay? I may not have had to wait as long as you did this time around, but I spent a whole life without you as well. Besides, it’s been a while for me in this life, too.”

“Really? No side hookups here in Bilbury? I’ve seen the way the old blokes at the pub are looking at you, you now? Arthur Walsh especially, that old horn-dog --”

“God, stop”, Harry giggles and shuts him up with a kiss. “I do _not_ want to think about Arthur Walsh when I’m _hard_ and in bed with my boyfriend!”

“Boyfriend?”, Louis smirks. “I’m your boyfriend?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yes, you are! And you’re about to get the full boyfriend treatment as well”, he adds with a wicked grin, slowly moving lower until his face is hovering above Louis’ crotch.

“That’s very romantic of you, you know?”, he says as he slowly unbuttons Louis’ jeans. “Waiting for me all those years.”

“Well, what can I say”, Louis says, hissing when Harry’s hand wraps around his erection with only the thin material of his briefs between them. “I’ve always been a romantic.”

“Hmm”, Harry hums, slowly pulling down his pants to free his cock. He looks up at Louis again, licking his lips deliberately.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Harry Styles”, Louis groans, looking down at him with so much love and adoration written all over his face that it almost takes Harry’s breath away.

“Not yet”, Harry smiles. “This time I want to have a life with you first.”

And then he wraps his lips around the tip of Louis’ erection, effectively shutting them both up.

***

They are laying in each other’s arms afterwards, their sweaty bodies pressed firmly together. Harry gently strokes Louis’ soft hair while he plays with the locket on Harry’s chest absent-mindedly. Harry thinks back to the way Louis had stroked his chest where the locket lays several times during sex and the way he’d murmured “Looks so beautiful on you”.

He clears his throat a little awkwardly and Louis lifts his head to look at him. “Were you disappointed?” Louis’ brows pull together in confusion. “That it’s me, I mean.”

“What?” Louis sits up to get a better look at Harry. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, when you first saw me, when I moved here. Were you disappointed?”

Louis looks at him with a completely dumbfounded expression on his face. “What are you on about? Why would I be disappointed? I was never happier to see someone peeking into a stranger’s window.”

Harry knows he’s joking to lighten the mood, but the hot ball of anxiety is still sitting in his stomach and he can’t bring himself to laugh.

“I meant… by my appearance”, he feels a bit silly saying it aloud like this, but he feels like he might explode if he doesn’t get this out. “Like, what would you have done if I showed up after all this time and you didn’t find me attractive.”

Louis chuckles and bends down to kiss Harry’s nose gently. “Oh darling, I think we’ve established that I find you plenty attractive, don’t you think?” He presses his still naked crotch against Harry’s leg. “Like what did you think all of that right here was about?”

Harry blushes. “Well, you haven’t had sex in years, so maybe…”

“Oh, hush”, Louis playfully puts a hand over Harry’s mouth to shut him up, his eyes sparkling. “You are the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen in this lifetime. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? The dreamy curls, the eyes, the _dimples_ – you’ve truly got it all. And don’t even get me started on those beautiful legs!”

Harry blushes and hides his face behind his hands in embarrassment. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments”, he says, his voice muffled.  
Louis gently pries his hands away from his face to look at him, his gaze completely sincere now.

“Harry, you’re beautiful. And I _definitely_ find you attractive. But it’s not about that, is it? I _knew_ you, Harry, that first day you walked those gorgeous legs over to the window downstairs, I knew you, heart and soul. What did I tell you? It’s not about seeing with your eyes. I already loved you with everything in me before you even said the first word that day. Now and forever, remember?”

He places a warm hand over Harry’s heart and strokes the locket with one finger.

“I chose this, okay? I chose to come back for you, to give us another chance at a life together – we both did. And even if this summer had ended with you deciding that this is too weird for you or even if you don’t chose to stay with me now, I’d give everything to be a part of your life any way you’ll let me. Because I already loved you before you first set foot into Bilbury and that love has only grown stronger ever since you did. It’s been a pleasure to get to know you a second time. I had a lot of time thinking about all the possible outcomes of this while I waited for you, you know. And I always knew, once I finally had you back, I would give everything to make it work between us. Even if you wouldn’t have reciprocated my feelings or if you didn’t want _this_ or whatever, I already knew that I would still do everything in my power to keep you in my life – at least as a friend. I’ve waited a long time to finally get to spend my life with you. I’m not going to waste it. I’m not going anywhere. Any way you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

Harry nods, completely speechless and he can feel a tear running down his cheek. Louis wipes it away gently and smiles. “I love you and I _know_ you, the real you. In here”, his hand presses against Harry’s chest. “The gorgeous packaging is just a bonus”, he adds with a smirk.

Harry’s laugh sounds wet, more tears streaming down his face now.

“Okay”, he croaks out somewhat lamely. “I love you too, you know that, right? And I want this”, he gestures helplessly between them, feeling a little inadequate, “I want this, _you,_ more than anything. I’m all yours, now and forever.”

“Thank god”, Louis breathes with a sigh of relief. “This would have been a bit of an awkward story otherwise. I don’t think there’s many precedents for one night stands with your soulmate from another life.” They both laugh softly until Harry pulls Louis’ head down and presses their lips together, both of them chuckling into the kiss.

“This is _not_ a one night stand”, Harry says pointedly between kisses. “You know, when we were at the pub earlier, I had this whole vision of our lives together. Marriage, kids, all of it. I didn’t mention it yet because I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Louis’ smile grows and he surges down to press another quick kiss against Harry’s lips.

“Impossible. I’ve had a few more years to plan everything I want with you, remember? Your little beginner’s fantasies won’t scare me off”, he laughs.

“Oh yeah? Beginner’s fantasies, huh? You don’t even _know_ all of the fantasies that I have”, Harry retorts. “I have so many, I’m not even sure how we’re going to get to all of them!”

“Oh, my love”, Louis says, his voice sincere again, while his eyes sparkle with a familiar mischief. “We’ve got a whole life together.”


End file.
